


The Bet

by SurielAndIAreEndgame



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rhys really likes to smirk, Slow Burn, Smut, Tamlin is a tool, Therapy, Trauma, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27694262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SurielAndIAreEndgame/pseuds/SurielAndIAreEndgame
Summary: Feyre moves to New York, where her best friend Mor lives. Mor introduces her to several new friends - and a cousin. A cousin with violet eyes, handsome features... and the most arrogant, bothersome personality Feyre has ever encountered. When Mor bets her $100 that Feyre can’t stay away from him for 100 days, she immediately accepts. He’s just one guy; how hard can it be? Turns out, harder than she originally thought.**IMPORTANT: I just changed my username from BookWormQ702 (because it was kind of boring) to SurielAndIAreEndgame (because we are). Tumblr username changed as well. Don’t be confused.**
Relationships: Azriel/Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 275
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like my first ACoTaR fic. Comments are appreciated. Enjoy!  
> Disclaimer - all characters belong to Sarah J Maas.

Feyre Archeron was lost. She had taken the flight from Detroit to New York, and now she was wandering aimlessly through the airport with her two collected suitcases and carry-on bag trying to locate her best friend.

“Feyre!” Somebody squealed. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “Oh gods oh gods you’re here!”

Feyre turned as best as she could with her luggage. “Hey Mor.”

Morrigan ran over and slung her arms around Feyre. “Gods, I missed you so much Feyre.”

She smiled. “I missed you too. I still can’t believe we’re going to be living together.” After years living in the outskirts of Detroit, Feyre was finally moving to New York to pursue her dreams as an artist. Mor, her best friend from high school and college, had offered Feyre the other room in her apartment, recently uninhabited by a previous roommate.

Mor pulled back and grinned. “I’m so excited. Here, let me take this.” She grabbed one of Feyre’s suitcases.

They walked to the exit where Mor’s car was parked nearby, trying to fill each other in on five years of gossip all the while. Finally they reached the car and loaded Feyre’s luggage in the trunk.

“I can’t wait for you to meet my friends,” Mor said. “They’ll love you, I have no doubts about that.”

Feyre grinned. “Of course they will. Everybody loves me.”

Mor snorted as they settled in the car. “Humble as always, I see. Oh, you’ll never guess who Clare Beddor married!”

The ride was forty-five minutes long. Feyre and Mor talked the whole time (read: Mor couldn’t stop talking and Feyre listened). They finally pulled up outside a nice-sized apartment building.

“That box you shipped with all your art supplies came yesterday. I put it in your room,” Mor informed her as they pulled the luggage out of the elevator and to a door on the right.

“Thanks Mor,” Feyre replied, but her mind was on the room they entered. The living room had a large couch and a small television. It opened into the kitchen, which had only minimal appliances, but Feyre wasn’t much of a cook anyways. Everything was clean and color-coordinated, which Feyre put up to Mor’s eye for design.

“It’s very nice,” Feyre said.

Mor smiled. “Thanks, dear, but I must ask - do you really have only two suitcases and a box?”

Feyre answered, perhaps a bit defensively, “I’m a miniamlist.”

A female voice from what might be the dining room area called out, “She only asks because it’d take four suitcases just to fit all her dresses.”

“You’re one to talk,” Mor answered. “You have a whole dresser for your jewelry.” Turning to Feyre, she explained, “That’s Amren. She wanted to be here to welcome you. She isn’t exactly the welcoming type, though, so I’d beware ulterior motives.”

Feyre smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” They went down a hallway, which gave a better view of the dining room where a woman was indeed sitting, a book in front of her. The most noticeable features were her startling grey eyes and the fact that she was covered in a variety of bracelets, rings, and necklaces. All appeared to have an expensive gem somewhere in them.

“Amren, don’t just sit there. Come say hi to Feyre,” Mor instructed.

Amren rolled her eyes and stood. Standing, her short height was more noticeable.

Feyre gave a smile and said, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”

The women just hummed and said, “We’ll see.”

Mor sighed. “Don’t mind her, Feyre. She’s like this with everyone.” With that, she led Feyre to a room down the hall. It was medium-sized, with a window and neutral cream walls. There was a freshly-made bed against one wall and a dresser against another.

Feyre grinned. “This is great. Thank you so much, Mor.” She set down her bags to give Mor a hug.

“Of course. Besides, you know I was looking for a new roommate anyways. I’m just so glad we’re together again.”

-

They spent the better part of an hour unpacking, arranging, and rearranging. Finally, clothes were sorted in the dresser, belongings were scattered across the room in an organized chaos, and a couple of Feyre’s own paintings were hanging on the wall. They were her two favorites: one a firey landscape with lots of flowers to remind her of her sisters, the other a night sky. She had painted that one years ago, and it remained her most treasured.

“Do you want to stay and get settled in some more,” Mor asked, “or do you want to come with me to the cafe? My other friends will probably be there.”

Feyre smiled. “I almost forgot, you own a cafe now. I’ll come; might as well meet everybody.”

Mor squealed. “They’re going to love you so much!”

“I think you already said that,” Feyre replied, grinning.

“Well then you know I really mean it. Come on!” Mor grabbed Feyre’s arm and dragged her out of her new room. “Amren, we’re headed to the cafe. Come with?”

Amren got to her feet. “Sure, why not.” She looked perpetually bored with the situation.

They only had to walk a couple blocks, though Amren complained the whole way. Despite her disdain for seemingly anything and everything, there was something about her that Feyre was growing fond of.

They reached the cafe and Mor led her over to a table with three men. They all looked up and smiled at Feyre. Thank the gods everyone was friendlier than Amren, it looked like. Though a couple of those smiles looked like smirks.

“Everybody, this is Feyre. Feyre, this is Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand, my cousin. I should head behind the counter now. Have fun.” She gave Feyre a quick squeeze and sauntered over to the back.

Feyre hadn’t expected Mor to leave, a bit stupidity, she thought. Mor did work here after all. Now she was standing in front of three new people she didn’t know and whose names were already slipping away. “Hello,” she said in a voice with more confidence than she thought she could muster. She took a seat and Amren sat next to her.

The one in the middle, Cassian, she remembered, said, “Hi, Feyre. We’ve heard a lot about you.” He had a shit-eating grin on his face that Feyre instantly returned, despite feeling a bit nervous about his comment. What the hell had Mor told them?

Azriel smiled and said, “Don’t make her nervous, Cass. It’s nice to meet you, Feyre.” His genuine smile and manners made Feyre take an instant liking to him.

“Yes, it is,” Feyre responded, mentally cursing herself for lack of a better reply.

She turned her gaze on the last one. Rhysand, Mor’s cousin. She had never met him, since he and Mor were a very distant relation and hadn’t gotten close until after college. Feyre knew from phone calls with Mor that they were as close as siblings now. “Hi, Rhysand.”

He grinned. “Everybody calls me Rhys, darling.”

Feyre scowled. “My name is Feyre, not darling.” Her response appeared to delight him, his violet eyes lighting up and his beautiful mouth curving into a smirk. Not that she though his mouth was beautiful. She just scowled further.

Cassian chuckled. “I like her already.” Feyre returned his smile, turning away from Rhys.

-

Feyre, Mor, and Amren were back at the apartment later that evening, sitting on the couch. All three women were drunk after a few too many shots from one of Mor’s tequila bottles, to be opened on special occasions.

“Feyre, what did you think of my cousin?” Mor asked.

Feyre hesitated. “Um, he was nice.”

Amren intervened, “Liar. You hated him.”

Mor giggled. “He likes you, though.”

“I doubt that.” Feyre didn’t think a few smirks constituted him liking her.

“He totally does. He got the look,” Amren declared.

“What look?” Feyre asked.

Mor giggled again. “The look like he wants you bad. I could see it all the way from the back.”

Feyre blinked. “Well, if that is the case, he’s going to have to get over his interest and find somebody else who enjoys being smirked at and called darling.”

Amren grinned. “Trust me, he could. But he wants you and he’s not going to stop until he gets you.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “What is he, some sort of super-predator?”

The other two burst into laughter. “No,” Mor said between laughs, “he isn’t. But he does have a thing with women and the rare lady who denies him always sparks his interest.”

Feyre frowned. “So he likes me because I have enough sense not to like him and he’ll probably harass me for the rest of my life. Is that what you’re saying?”

Mor said, “No, it’s not like that. We’re not explaining this very well, but he isn’t a bad person. He would never seek out a girl just as some sort of conquest. You did catch his eye though.”

Feyre sighed. “Well I suppose he doesn’t sound too bad, but I’m certainly not interested.”

Mor grinned. “You say that now, but I bet you won’t last a month.”

“Agreed,” Amren put in.

“I would like to take that bet.”

Amren gave an evil smile and said, “I don’t bet. You two however... how about we up the stakes?”

“What do you have in mind?” Mor asked.

“Feyre has one hundred days to stay away from Rhys. If she manages it, Mor owes her one hundred dollars. If she doesn’t, it’s the other way around,” Amren said.

“A hundred dollars for a hundred days. I’m in if you are,” Feyre declared. She normally wouldn’t take such high-stake bets, but she was certain she would win this, and the alcohol certainly loosened her wallet.

Mor gave a grin. “Definitely.”

Amren said, “We need rules. And we’re all drunk enough to forget this in the morning. We need to write it down.”

“You’re so smart, Am,” Feyre gushed.

Amren frowned. “I think I like you better sober.” She stood and shakily walked to the counter to grab a piece of paper and a pen.

The best she could find was a McDonald’s napkin and a green marker, but it still counted. They all huddled together adding things, making remarks, and giggling.

“When have one hundred days passed?”

“I can’t count drunk.”

“I’ll do it. We can make sure it’s right in the morning.”

“Is it a leap year?”

“What does it matter if it’s a leap year? It’s after February.”

“No flirting.”

“What is interpreted as flirting?”

“No _intentional_ flirting.”

“What if he kisses her?”

“I’ll knee him in the balls.”

“If he kisses her, she must immediately stop him. Touching too.”

“What if I touch him by accident? Like, run into him or something?”

“No intentional touching.”

“But what if he’s falling off a cliff and I have to grab him?”

“Why the hell would he be falling off a cliff?”

“You never know.”

“Perhaps that scenario is a bit extreme, but you might have to give him a hand or something. We’ll categorize it.”

“Does this end the beginning of the last day, or at the end of it?”

“The end. Like midnight, since it’s so late right now.”

“We need to trust you, Feyre. We can’t stalk you 24/7, so you’re going to have to give us your word that you’re following all the rules.”

“Um, when you say you can’t stalk me all the time, does that mean you can stalk me some of the time?”

“No comment.”

“Guys, you’re scaring me.”

“Mor, leave her be. Feyre, we won’t stalk you a lot. Now give us your word.”

“Not a lot? Very reassuring, guys. Okay, I give you my word. I’ll even sign it.”

“Me too.”

“I will as well.”

After half an hour of squabbling, the McDonald’s napkin was unfolded and every space covered in Amren’s neat writing. Anyone who saw the choice of paper material, as well as the green marker, not to mention the oddly legal-sounding language, would be able to tell the writers were wasted. Finally, the last touches were added:

_September 9th, 2020_

_The following rules and requirements relate to a bet made between Feyre Archeron and Morrigan Hewn. Miss Archeron must heed said rules and requirements in order to receive a sum of $100 from Miss Hewn. If she fails in this task, she will owe the same price of $100 to Miss Hewn._

  * _Feyre Archeron may not intentionally flirt with Rhysand Night._
  * _She may not touch him in a romantic or sexual manner._
  * _She may not kiss him or engage in any sort of sexual activity with him._
  * _She must immediately halt any romantic or sexual touches from him._
  * _She must immediately halt all kisses or initiation of sexual activity from him._
  * _She may not confess any romantic or sexual desire to him._
  * _She may not purposely show her desires, should she have any, by leading him on in any way._
  * _She must decline offers of anything even remotely romantic. This includes_ _dates and all other romantic escapades._
  * _She may not inform him of this bet in any way._
  * _She may not inform anyone else of this bet in any way._



_Miss Archeron must be in accordance with every single aforementioned rule until 100 days subsequent. This is the date of December 18th, 2020. All rules apply until the very end of this day, at midnight. Miss Hewn and the witness, Amren Diamond, may not inform any person of this bet in any way. Otherwise, they may meddle as they please._

_~Disclaimer - This bet is all or nothing. For example, should Miss Archeron meet all requirements until day twenty, she is not owed $20. She must pay the $100._

_~Disclaimer - Any broach of the rules on Miss Archeron’s part cannot be excused with clouded judgement from alcohol or drug consumption._

_~Disclaimer - This bet cannot be terminated before the end date. It is permanent and binding._ _  
_

_Signature of participant:_

_Feyre Archeron_

_Signature of participant:_

_Morrigan Hewn_

_All content is legalized by the signature of a witness:_

_Amren Diamond_

  
“This is so exciting!” Mor exclaimed.

“Really, Amren, you should be a lawyer,” Feyre declared.

Amren snorted. “I would look good in a pantsuit.”

They all burst into a fit of giggles. “Damn straight, Am,” Feyre slurred.

“Lawyers are so cool,” Mor said, then promptly passed out on the couch.

“There is no way in hell I’m carrying her in this state. She can sleep on the sofa,” Feyre decided.

Amren said, “Good, I can take her bed.”

The two women gripped each other’s arms as they stumbled down the hallways. They separated at Feyre’s doorway, bid each other goodnight, then Feyre climbed under the covers. In her drunken stupor she only had seconds to think about the bet she had just made. Rhysand already pissed her off; there was no way this was going to be hard. Feyre would definitely win. And then she drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a good response to the last chapter. Thank you to everyone who commented on, gave kudos to, or just read my writing. I couldn’t do this without you!

**Day 1**

_Everything hurts._ That was the first thought in Feyre’s head as she awoke the next morning. What the hell had happened?

Feyre sat up and blinked. Ah, yes. Tequila.

She climbed out of her bed, shuffling to the bathroom to try and locate some aspirin. Being new, she could only hope she got lucky in her search. She did indeed find a bottle.

Once she used the bathroom and brushed the smell of alcohol off her teeth, Feyre trudged out to the living room. Mor was still sound asleep on the couch. There was a McDonald’s napkin lying on the floor next to the couch, which Feyre picked up.

Reading the napkin, Feyre was reminded of last night’s events. Oh, gods, had she seriously bet $100? Making a living as a struggling artist wasn’t helped along by betting away money. Feyre refused to feel nervous, however. If she won, the money would help, even just a little. And she was going to win.

Seeing how legal and proper the contract sounded made Feyre giggle.

“So that wasn’t a dream, then.” Feyre turned to see Amren in the doorway, eyeing the napkin with a smirk on her face.

“I’m afraid not,” Feyre answered, grinning. “Perhaps as witness, you want to hold on to this?”

Amren snorted. “I haven’t known you long enough to tell for certain, but Morrigan would definitely lose that thing within minutes. I’ll keep it in my purse.”

Feyre handed over the “contract.”

“Whatshadoin?” murmured Mor, squinting up at them.

Amren said, “It’s Thursday. Don’t you have work?”

Mor winced. “I prepared for this. Took a late shift. As long as it’s before 3:30 I’m good. Um, it is, right?”

Feyre walked toward the kitchen and glanced over at the microwave clock. “It’s noon.”

Mor groaned. “Thank the gods. Goodnight y’all.” She closed her eyes again.

“I need to be at the jeweler’s soon. Goodbye, Feyre,” Amren said.

“You’re a jeweler?” Feyre asked. She didn’t know why she was surprised. The woman was covered in jewelry, even now. Had she taken it all off to sleep? Probably not.

Amren gave a smirk. “Couldn’t you tell?” With that, she strutted over to the door and left. Okay, so Amren was definitely an oddball.

Feyre entered the kitchen and looked through the cabinets to get used to the layout. Satisfied she knew where the basics were, she started making coffee.

Half an hour later, Mor plodded over to the dining room table where Feyre was sitting, reading a book. “Good gods, my head is pounding.”

Feyre smiled. “Yeah, I would be surprised if it wasn’t. I got you an aspirin.” She gestured next to her, where there was also a glass of water.

“You’re an angel, Fey. I don’t think I could survive without you.” Mor swallowed it and sat down. “So what’s the plan? I know you want to be an artist. How does one get about doing that?”

Feyre set down her book. “Well, I have enough savings to last me for a while as I get started. I checked and there’s a small space a few blocks down, good for an art studio. I’ve placed an offer and today I am going to paint. I’ll see how well the paintings sell.”

Mor grinned. “This is so exciting. I’ve seen what your stuff looked like before you majored in art; there’s no way anyone will be able to resist now. You have a real talent.”

Feyre was touched. “Thank you, Mor. That means a lot to me.”

“Oh gods, I’ve just remembered.” Mor burst into laughter. “Good lord, did we really bet you to keep away from my smooth-tongued cousin?”

Feyre snorted. “Call him what you will, yes we did. And I am going to kick your ass. Easily.”

“You say that now. We’ll see, dear, we’ll see...”

-

A knock sounded on the door. Mor had left an hour earlier for work and Feyre was setting up her art supplies in her bedroom, planning on starting a new painting.

Feyre walked down the hall and to the door. Opening it revealed... gods no. But alas, it was indeed Rhysand, in all his smirky glory.

“Mor’s at her cafe.”

Rhys’ smile widened. “I know, darling. I came to see you.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “May I ask why?”

“You’re new. I thought you might need help settling in. Or just some company.”

She frowned. Feyre was still in the doorway, Rhys unable to enter. “I have no need of either of those things.”

“If you say so, darling.” Feyre’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “But now that I’m here, I’ve just remembered I let Mor borrow my earbuds the other day. I should probably get them back.” The damn bastard. What was Feyre supposed to do, tell him he couldn’t come get something from his own cousin’s apartment?

“Okay,” was all Feyre could manage without smacking him. She turned and walked away down into her room, certain Rhys wouldn’t follow her into her own bedroom.

There was music playing softly from Feyre’s phone, and looking at the paints and canvas, she forgot all about Rhys’ presence somewhere in apartment.

Feyre got lost in the melody of painting, the stroke of the brush, the twining of colors. She soon had a lake surrounded by a copse of trees. Nothing special, and everything was just outlines. Still, though, even after just a few minutes the setting was starting to take place.

“It’s beautiful,” a voice commented near Feyre’s ear.

She spun around to find Rhys hovering behind her. “Fucking hell! Don’t scare people like that. And it’s not beautiful; it’s barely started. And also, creeping about my bedroom? How long have you been watching me? Fucking stalker!”

Rhysand chuckled. “Sorry to frighten you.” He sounded anything but. “It took me a while to find these,” he said, dangling a pair of earbuds. Jerk had probably planned that. “I came to check on you before I left. And it _is_ beautiful; it may not be finished, but you have some serious talent.”

Mor had said something very similar not too long ago, and it warmed Feyre’s heart. She did not want to hear compliments from _him_ , however. Feyre gave a menacing scowl and elbowed Rhys, hard. That definitely didn’t count as _a ro_ _mantic or sexual manner_ , to quote the contract. “Still creepy. Haven’t you been taught basic manners?”

Rhys fake-pouted. “I’d ask the same of you. You haven’t exactly been civil to me. Why is that, darling?”

Feyre frowned. “You call me darling. You smirk too much. You... you just irk me.”

A startled laugh left Rhys’ mouth. For the life of her, Feyre couldn’t understand why he looked pleased by that. “I’ll see you around, darling.” He winked and walked - no, strutted - through the doorway.

Feyre stood there for a while, replaying the conversation. What an ass! Who did he think he was? This bet was ridiculous; it would have been much more challenging to not be allowed to punch Rhys. Feyre was starting to think this was a possibility. If he called her darling one more time...

Feyre needed to relax. She dipped the paintbrush she hadn’t set down into the cobalt blue and set to work once more, but no matter how hard she tried, Feyre couldn’t get Rhysand out of her head.

-

Mor got home late in the evening. She heard music playing from Feyre’s room and went in to check on her.

Feyre turned and smiled when Mor gasped behind her. “Do you like them?” She had finished the lake painting and was about halfway through a starry sky on a new canvas, similar to the one on her wall. Feyre had only paused once to get a sandwich, otherwise occupied with the freedom painting gave her.

“Feyre, I love them! They’re beautiful!”

Feyre scowled.

“Honey, that was a compliment. Why the long face?”

She sighed. “That’s the same thing your bastard of a cousin said when he stopped by. I can’t help but frown at the thought of him.”

Mor laughed. “He came over?”

“Yes, come to harass me. And don’t worry, the only touching that happened was when I elbowed him.”

Mor burst into a fit of giggles. “Why don’t you like him?”

“I don’t know, Mor. I should be making more of an effort since he’s your cousin, but there’s just something about him that gets on my last nerve.” Feyre sighed.

“He can be very... difficult.” Mor grinned. “Perhaps, though, that something is just sexual tension.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Trying to hypnotize me into making a move? That’s a low blow, Mor. And sure as hell never happening.”

“What did the napkin say, _they may meddle as they please_? Anyway, I need to make money somehow, _darling_ ,” Mor mocked.

Feyre frowned. “Call me darling again and I’m moving out.”

Mor just let out a tinkling laugh. “You’ll fall in love eventually. Don’t doubt that. All I have to do is watch and wait.”

“We’ll see about that.” Feyre turned, trying to hide the smile that appeared at her friend’s nonsensical antics.

“Yes, we most certainly will.” Mor left the room, leaving Feyre to her thoughts. Once again they were drawn back to Rhys.

He was arrogant, condescending, and just plain annoying. So why couldn’t Feyre stop thinking about him? Probably just the bet - now that money was at stake, Feyre couldn’t help but think of it. Yes, that was all.

She turned back to her painting, intent on finishing it so the two could dry overnight.

-

Feyre emerged from her room at ten, finally done with her work. She brought several paintbrushes out to the kitchen sink, needing to wash them. When she finished and walked into the living room, Mor was sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine.

“Hon, have you had dinner?”

Feyre blinked. “Well... I suppose not. I get caught up in my painting easily.”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Mor replied. “All of college I had to remind you to eat. There’s some soup on the counter I brought home from the cafe if you want it.”

Feyre thanked her, heated up the soup, and came to join Mor at the couch with the bowl on her lap.

“So, Feyre. About Rhys-”

Feyre interrupted, “Why are we discussing your cousin again?”

Mor grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to set you up again. I’m only warning you.”

“Warning me about what?”

“Rhys asked me for your number.” Mor was smirking.

Feyre scowled. “If you actually gave it to him... Oh gods, you did! Traitor! I don’t want him texting me.”

Mor replied, “I couldn’t say no to his puppy-dog eyes.” Feyre frowned, trying to imagine Rhys’ smirk transformed into puppy-dog eyes. She couldn’t. “And anyway, this will help along the process.”

“One more word about how I’m going to end up falling in love with his sorry ass and I’ll punch you, Mor. Can we please discuss something else now?”

Mor sighed. “Fine. What do you think of New York?”

“Well,” said Feyre, glad that Mor had relented, “I haven’t seen much, but everything seems great so far. The buildings are impressive, your cafe is lovely, and your friends are pretty nice. Most of them, anyway.” And just like that, despite his name not being mentioned, Rhys was back in the damned conversation. Feyre could only hope Mor didn’t choose to comment on this.

“Thank you, I’m glad you like my cafe. Also, let’s be honest, I know you were referring to my dear cousin, but the only nice person in our whole friend group is Azriel.” Mor smiled.

Feyre let out a snort. “Cassian seemed nice enough.”

“Cassian is many things. Nice is not one of them,” Mor answered.

“Well, I like him. Is he single?” Feyre asked, for the sole reason of aggravating Mor.

She scowled. “No, but... you can’t date him.”

“Are you going to provide me with a reason?” Feyre asked innocently.

“Fuck you!” Mor yelled.

Feyre just giggled. She wasn’t really interested in Cassian like that. He seemed like he could be a good friend to her, though. Feyre kept teasing Mor, even asking about Aziel’s relationship status at one point. Despite her best efforts, however, she couldn’t bring herself to want to flirt with anyone. Instead, Feyre’s thoughts drifted back to the violet-eyed man whom she hated so much.

Damn him. Damn his smirk and his irritating demeanor. Damn his mirthful eyes and... lucious lips. _Fucking hell! Why did I just think that?_

Damn it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So no Tamlin plot yet. Probably in the next chapter. Also, I have no clue how to paint something or how long it takes, so ignore any errors there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 5**

Today was the day Feyre moved into her new studio. Over the weekend she had spoken with the proprietor and settled the offer. It was now Monday morning.

Feyre was currently lugging her suitcases down the sidewalk. The studio was only a few blocks away, not to mention she didn’t have a car. She had bought new art supplies recently, too excited to wait until she got the studio. And she had packed everything into her suitcases, which were much easier to transport than boxes.

She finally reached the building. Feyre had already visited after renting out the place, both today and the day before, so she was familiar with it already. She left one suitcase at the bottom of the metal stairs. Why did it have to be on the second floor? At least that lowered the price; it was hard to find an affordable studio space in Greenwich Village.

Feyre carried one suitcase up, came back down, and carried up the other. She then pulled out her key... which she dropped, and of course felt through one of the slits in the walkway. Great. Another trudge down the stairs. Feyre turned and made it down all of two steps before coming face to face with, woe and behold, Rhys. _Why does this keep happening to me?_ At least he hadn’t texted her yet.

Rhys grinned. “Looking for this, I take it?” He held up her key.

Feyre frowned. “Thanks.” She grabbed the key from his hand. “Um, do I really have to ask why you’re here?”

Rhysand smirked. Of course he did. “Mor mentioned you were moving things to your new studio.”

“And she also mentioned the address?” Feyre asked. She was going to kill Mor.

“I asked her for it. I want to help. What do you need me to do, darling?”

Feyre frowned. “It’s Monday. Don’t you have a job?”

Another damned smirked flitted over Rhys’ face. She was going to kill him too, she decided. “I’m a flight instructor at the university. Tuesday through Thursday only.”

Of all the things he could have said, Feyre had expected that one the least. She had pictured Rhys as more of a... well, something involving smooth-talking clients and wearing expensive suits. Perhaps Feyre had been making too many assumptions about Rhys.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I know, I look like a skeezy businessman.” He didn’t seem upset, though, just endlessly amused. Did he have any other emotions? “I like to fly, though. It makes me feel free. Teaching it is almost as good.”

Feyre blinked. She was surprised to hear such an honest comment from him. And feeling free... just like when Feyre picked up a paintbrush. She scowled. “You can help me unpack stuff.” Without another word, she turned and unlocked the door.

-

They spent the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon setting up the area. And they talked. About Feyre’s hometown of Detroit and her dream to be an artist. Of Rhys’ joy of flying and his experiences in New York.

Despite the sharing, Feyre’s animosity remained. She refused to smile at him, even once. And when he invited her to go to the cafe and see Mor, she hesitated. She was hungry and couldn’t cook for the life of her, and after all that Rhys had done, she owed him food. But the bet specified that...

“This is not a date,” Feyre said, frowning.

Rhysand grinned. “If I were taking you on a date, darling, it wouldn’t be where my cousin works.”

Feyre scowled. “You are never taking me on a date.”

“I said ‘if.’” Rhys smiled seductively and learned forward. “I don’t think never is accurate, though. In fact, I’m hoping to convince you to come on a date with me before long. I’ll charm you eventually.” Bloody hell.

“You’re a fucking prick, you know that? And you haven’t even asked me on a date yet. How do you know I’d turn you down?”

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” Rhys asked with an amused expression on his face.

“Well, no.”

His smile widened. “And that’s why I didn’t ask. But I’ll crack that aggressive exterior in no time, don’t worry.”

Feyre hadn’t realized how close they had gotten. “I’m seriously about to punch you right now.”

Rhys chuckled. “I would expect nothing less, darling. Let’s head out.” To the cafe. Where Feyre was having a not-even-close-to-an-actual-date and... sitting with him? Eating with him? This was going to be great. Maybe they could get separate tables.

-

“Feyre! Rhys! Here on a date?” Mor was behind the counter, grinning, attempting to suppress the eagerness at winning the bet already - and failing miserably.

Feyre gave her most vicious frown and I-will-hunt-you-down-and-skin-you-alive stare. Rhysand was the one who replied. “Feyre darling insists this is not a date. I’m not so sure, though.”

Feyre turned to him. “It is not a date. I do not like you. I just want to eat lunch.” She was perhaps a little too snappy, but Rhys seemed to have thick skin. He could handle it.

Mor frowned. “Well I think you two should go on a date. You’d be so cute together.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Feyre ignored this comment and ordered a grilled cheese and a coffee.

Mor refused to be satisfied. “How did you two come to be strolling down the sidewalk together?”

“I think you know, having given him the address of my studio. Thank you for that, by the way.” Feyre’s voice couldn’t have been drier.

Mor, however, smiled graciously. “Of course, Feyre. I know how much you like to spend time with my cousin.” Her voice was sincere, but from the mischievous glint in her eye, Feyre could tell she didn’t mean a word of that statement. Feyre really was starting to fantasize of how she could murder her friend.

Rhys snorted and ordered his food, smirking all the while. He and Feyre sat a small table by the window. After a minute he said, “You’re staring at my mouth.” Which was technically true. Shit.

Feyre frowned. “I was wondering if that smirk is permanent. Plastic surgery, maybe?”

Rhys barked a laugh. He was probably about to give some witty comeback when Feyre’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and check the screen before turning it off and putting it back.

“Not important, darling?” Rhys asked.

“No.” Which wasn’t technically true. But there was no way in hell Feyre was going to answer her phone when the caller ID read **Tamlin**.

-

“I’m home,” Mor called, hours later.

“In here,” was Feyre’s reply. She was in the dining room looking over the documents of her contract with the studio. Everything seemed to be in order.

Mor dropped onto the seat next to Feyre. “Have fun with my cousin?”

“Sending him to my studio? I’m going to murder you for that.” Feyre didn’t bother to look up from what she was doing.

“You could have turned him away.” Feyre didn’t dignify this with a response. “Hon, you look so sad. I didn’t mean to-”

“No, Mor.” Feyre looked up from the papers. “It’s not because of what you did. As annoying as he is, Rhys did help. It’s... I got a call from Tamlin today.”

Mor’s eyes widened. “I thought he was calling less now.”

A sigh came out of Feyre. “Less, but not never. If only because he knows I won’t answer. He’s still looking for me though. I thought once he realized I left Detroit he would stop looking. I don’t even know why. I should have known better.”

Mor took Feyre’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Feyre. I wish there was something I could do. Surely there must be-”

Feyre interrupted her again. “No. He is rich. He is powerful. The best I can do is hide.”

“That doesn’t sound like a pleasant way to live.”

“What else can I do? Besides, it can be. I’m here with you. I’m painting. That all I’ve ever wanted.”

Mor sighed. “And yet you live with a shadow over your head, always scared he’ll find you. You look so cheerful that I think that you’re doing better after everything he did, but then you look so sad sometimes and I know that isn’t true. You’ve been through serious trauma. Have you considered therapy?”

Feyre frowned and looked down. “I think that’s a good idea. I might as well give it a try.”

“Good. And whatever you need, Feyre, I am always here for you.”

Feyre looked up at her friend. “Stop that, Mor. You’re making me cry.” Tears were indeed slipping down her cheeks.

Mor smiled. “I’m your bestie. I’m supposed to make you cry sometimes.”

Feyre sniffled. “You’ve been so supportive. Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re so much more resilient than you give yourself credit for. I’m always going to help you, but I think you’d be fine if I didn’t.”

“I don’t know how true that is. But thank you.” Feyre gazed fondly at her best friend. Her support system. And she smiled.

-

Mor sat with Feyre for a few more minutes. As soon as she left to take a shower, Feyre looked online for a therapist nearby. She wasn’t going to say she’d try it and conveniently “forget” for a while. No more putting off help. Mor was right about Feyre going through trauma, and it was time to heal.

She clicked a website detailing the closest therapist’s practice, not too far away, probably not long on the subway. Perfect. Feyre found the number and dialed on her phone. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to make an appointment.” The receptionist, with a deep male voice, asked if 3:30 Friday would be okay. Feyre accepted and listed her credit card number. Her voice was shaky and her heart was thumping. _It’s just a phone call, calm down._ Everything was verified and then she said, “Thank you. Bye.”

Feyre set her phone down on the table. Her palms were sweating. She was already nervous for Friday. Working through this would obviously require talking about it. How would she manage telling someone about everything that had happened in that mansion...?

Feyre supposed if she had one of the nervous breakdowns she was prone to, a therapist’s office was the place to do it. Yes, she would be fine. _Stop worrying, Feyre. Also, stop talking to yourself. It’s weird._

Feyre stood and walking into the kitchen. She had already had dinner, but in all honesty, she could do to gain a few pounds. All that time hurling her guts into the toilet, because of nightmares of-

No. No more thinking about that. It would all come out on Friday, no need to work herself up about it now. Feyre grabbed a can of beer out of the fridge, opting for alcohol rather than food. She could gain weight later; now was the time to get drunk. Only mildly, though, since Feyre was painting in her studio tomorrow. It would be hard to focus with a hangover.

Feyre spent the next few minutes trying not to think about Tamlin. Which led her to thinking of Rhysand. What a smartass. What a beautiful smartass. This wasn’t mooning, Feyre told herself. Rhys was handsome - that wasn’t wrong to think, it was mere fact. She was allowed to appreciate his looks without actually being attracted to him. Which she wasn’t. Obviously.

Feyre didn’t feel anything when she looked at his muscular frame. Or his sparkling violet eyes, full of mirth. His structured cheekbones, his delicious lips. Delicious? Okay, perhaps that was a little over the top. The point: Feyre totally didn’t like Rhysand. Or want to admire his features endlessly. Needless to say.

Feyre thanked the gods when Mor left the bathroom and came back into the dining room. Anything to prevent her from her own traitorous thoughts.

The two women chatted for the rest of the night, Mor wanting to be there with Feyre after the call from Tamlin. They discussed paintings, a waiter Mor had had to fire, and anything that didn’t involve Tamlin. Or Rhysand. For once, Mor wasn’t hounding Feyre about _that_ topic, which was a major relief for her. Because it was getting hard to think about him without desiring him. A thought which seemed absolutely ridiculous to Feyre, seeing as he genuinely annoyed her endlessly. Rhys was such a fucking prick, so why couldn’t Feyre hate him? _Life is such a bitch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter you’ll find out more about Feyre’s past traumas... I’ve never written so much angst before so I hope I convey everything well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feyre goes to therapy - time for the backstory, y’all. I ended up writing over three times as much as my other chapters usually are, so I just split this one in three parts. You’ll get the next two soon.  
> Warning: trauma/mentions of past abuse

**Day 9 (Part One)**

The rest of the week passed without any further trouble. No more calls from Tamlin. No more visits from Rhys. He didn’t text her either, despite Mor giving him Feyre’s number over a week ago. Just Feyre painting in her studio, filling a wall with her work. She’d contacted some people about selling already and she was feeling good.

That is, until Friday rolled around. Therapy day. Feyre walked from her studio, still wearing paint-splattered clothes, to the subway. As she entered the nearest station, only a couple of streets away, Feyre marveled at how easy it was to travel in New York in this area without a vehicle.

Finally, at precisely 3:22, Feyre walked into a nice-sized building. There were paintings on the wall with pastel colors. The walls were a soft grey. Two cushioned sofas were back-to-back in the middle of the waiting room. Leather chairs were methodically placed against one wall. A low table was sitting between the chairs and the sofas.

Feyre headed towards the receptionist’s desk, trying to pretend she wasn’t shaking. The receptionist greeted her, his voice making Feyre think it was the same man who had made her appointment over the phone.

She checked in, verifying her identity and the payment, then took a seat on one of the chairs. Two middle-aged men and one older woman were also seated in the room, one of them reading one of the magazines scattered across the table, the others just sitting and waiting.

Feyre was nervous. Okay, that was a bit of an understatement. _Breathe. Just breathe._ One of the men was called back to an office. Then the woman to another. Several minutes later, a woman with raven hair, perhaps in her late forties, said, “Feyre Archeron.”

Feyre stood and walked to the woman, who smiled and led her to a room down the hallway. It was decorated, very similarly as in the waiting room, in calming tones.

“I’m Dr. Suriel, but you can call me Liz. Please, take a seat.”

Feyre did as she was told and said, “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Dr. Suriel gave a kind smile and sat in a seat opposite Feyre, a small table in between them. “You seem very anxious. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

Feyre took a breath. “Um, okay. I’m dealing with trauma from... I... my fiancé was abusive and...”

“Would you like some tea?” Feyre was surprised at the change in subject. Dr. Suriel smiled. “It always calms me down.”

Feyre nodded gratefully. “Yes, please.”

She stood and walked to a modernized kettle plugged in at the back and flipped the switch. The water was already inside, probably in anticipation of a fidgety client.

“Take a deep breath, Feyre. You don’t need to tell me anything you’re not ready to.” Feyre tried to steady her breathing as commanded as Dr. Suriel poured the steaming water into a mug with a tea bag inside. She walked back over and placed the mug on a coaster on the table. Feyre thanked the doctor and took a sip.

“What is the first emotion that comes to mind when you think of your former fiancé?”

“Terror,” Feyre answered immediately.

“And what makes you feel this way?”

Feyre didn’t have to think hard for this one either. “He trapped me. I feel so helpless, so insignificant when he’s around.”

Dr. Suriel asked, “Did you love him at any point in time?”

Feyre frowned. “Yes. I did.”

“Why?” Not an accusatory question, just curiosity.

“Because I thought he loved me. Because he was nice to me. He bought me presents, he gave me time and supplies to paint, like I’d always wanted. And because I could depend on him. I didn’t have to take care of anyone. Or myself.” Feyre lowered her head in shame.

Dr. Suriel’s voice didn’t change from her kind, sympathetic tone. _Years of dealing with broken fools like me_ , Feyre thought, rather morbidly. “Have you had to take care of anyone in the past?”

“My sisters and my father. My mother died when I was little, and I got a job to support my family when I was fourteen. Since none of them would.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “That seems like a very brave thing to do.” Feyre just shrugged. “How did you meet your former fiancé?”

“I worked through all of high school, like I said. Once my sisters moved out to go to college and do what they wanted, it was easier to support my father and myself. I started to start saving any money I could.

“Eventually it was enough that college started to look like a possibility. I got a scholarship that helped tremendously, a painting scholarship. I went through all of university and not long after, I started trying to figure out how to begin my career as an artist.”

Feyre paused for a second to gather her thoughts, Dr. Suriel listening all the while. “It was at an art gallery that I met him, a very upscale one that I had won a ticket to. He was standing over by some Monets...”

-

_Nine Months Ago_

“Excuse me, sir, I need to get through. Sorry.” Feyre trying to get past a very imposing man blocking the exit of the gallery. Too many people were crowded around the genuine Monets, making it hard to get by.

“My apologies. It’s very crowded in here, isn’t it?”

Feyre smiled and nodded faintly, wondering why he wasn’t moving.

The man smiled. “What’s your name?”

Feyre hesitated. Normally it wasn’t a good idea to give your name to strangers, but what harm could giving the man her first name do? “Feyre.”

He smiled again. “That’s a very pretty name. I’m Tamlin. Would you like to go out for drinks with me sometime?”

Feyre blinked. The man, Tamlin, wasn’t trying to be creepy. He was flirting... with _her?_ Despite his far-too-forward manor, and apparent lack of flirting skills, the fact that someone wanted to go out with her, that someone had noticed her at all...

“I would love to. I need to get to work now, but here’s my number.” Perhaps not the best idea to give your number to someone you’ve just met who’s blocking the exit of a room, but Feyre was excited. She hadn’t been noticed in some time. She pulled a crumpled receipt out of her purse and scribbled her number on it, grinning.

Tamlin accepted the receipt with a flourish. “I’ll be sure to call.” He stepped out of her way. Feyre walked past him, not taking her eyes off him. He was relatively good-looking and was still watching her. Feyre had a shy smile plastered across her face. Someone had asked her on a date!

Having not turned her head, Feyre of course ran into someone. _Very smooth, Feyre._ She heard a soft chuckle from behind her that she just knew belonged to Tamlin, but Feyre refused to look, instead facing the person she’d nearly mowed over. “I’m so sorry! I should have been watching where I was going,” Feyre apologized.

Her victim, a man with red hair and a prosthetic eye, smiled. “No worries. Ladies tend to have a hard time taking their eyes off of Tam.”

“You know him?” Feyre asked.

The red-haired man sighed. “We’re best friends. Today he’s decided to drag me out to an art exhibit, as you can see.” He said this last part a little more loudly with a pointed look in Tamlin’s direction. “Anyway, I’m Lucien. Nice to meet you.”

“Feyre,” she replied. “I really should be going, but it was nice to meet you as well.”

She hurried down the sidewalk to the office building where she had a small job as a secretary. Anything to support herself as she started painting. Feyre’s boss gave her a disapproving glare as she arrived, making Feyre fully aware of the fact that she was late. But it was worth it.

-

“When you met him, you chose to fall for him because he made you feel wanted,” Dr. Suriel said.

“Yes,” Feyre replied, though it hadn’t entirely been a question.

“And you did meet him, and continue to?”

“Yes,” she said again. “He called me the next day. It took a minute to fit it in our schedules, but we decided on drinks at the end of the week. We went, talked, mostly he told me about his job as the head of a company and how rich he was. I thought he was a bit too much of a show-off, but he was nice. He paid attention to me and he paid for the drinks. That was about as good as anyone had been to me in a long while, so when he offered to take me to dinner next time, I accepted.” Feyre sighed.

“Where did things start to go wrong?” Dr. Suriel asked.

Another sigh came out of Feyre. “Honestly, I think there was always something wrong. He was too obsessive, too boastful, too clingy. But it was really apparent about three months into our relationship, when I moved in with him.

“He asked me to start with. I was hesitant. I told him that I wasn’t ready. That I liked my apartment and I was going to stay a little longer. He claimed I didn’t love him. Said that if I really wanted to be with him I would live with him.

“I should have broken things off with him then and there, but I didn’t. I let him talk me into moving in with him, because he had been so nice, and I had hoped the aggression was a one-time thing.

“I am a feminist. I believe that no one, no matter their gender, should be bullied into a relationship. Yet I let that happen to myself. Why did I do that, Dr. Suriel?” Feyre finished with a shuddering breath.

Dr. Suriel smiled sadly. “Call me Liz, remember? And Feyre, I don’t think you are any less brave for letting that happen. Here.” She passed a box of tissues to Feyre, who only just realized she was silently crying. Once Feyre took a tissue and blew her nose, Dr. Suriel - Liz - continued, “You needed someone to care for you as you got your footing in life. There’s nothing wrong with that. And when that someone pressured you, thoughts of their kindness influenced your decision. Again, no problem with you. I think this man is the one with some serious issues.”

Feyre snorted. “You’re not wrong there.”

“Did things get better once you moved in with him?”

Feyre thought that the doctor probably already knew the answer to that. Still, she said, “No. They got worse. He wanted me to spend more time in his house. Thought I should quit my job. It was my only independence left, so I refused. He saw how adamant I was and backed down, for then at least.

“But he convinced me to stay at home more. In his big-ass mansion. Please excuse my language. I told you he’s rich, but that’s not the half of it. He’s a fucking millionaire. Sorry about the language again.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “I don’t mind. Vent if you need to.”

“Thank you.” Feyre returned the smile, then continued. “Half the rooms in his house he didn’t use. I found an old art gallery in one room, just left there with the door locked. A shame, really. I opened it up and went there often - the paintings were very calming.

“He saw how much I wanted to paint, how it influenced everything I did, but he looked at it less like a career and more like a hobby. He told me he could buy me any paints I wanted, that I could just sit and paint pretty pictures all day. I refused, but he said that painting wasn’t a real way to make a living, and I should just be a housewife.

“I was also finally pressured into quitting my job. He couldn’t understand why I wanted to keep it, because I didn’t even like working there. I had been doing it for money and now that I lived in his house I didn’t need money. Finally, I just couldn’t handle it anymore. I turned in my resignation. It only got worse from there...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re just getting into it and I hope everything’s well-written so far. Comments appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Feyre’s at therapy. It’s getting angsty.

**Day 9 (Part Two)**

“It only got worse from there...

“I became withdrawn. I had trouble sleeping. I ate less and threw up what I did eat in the nighttime. It got to the point where I had so little energy that I didn’t want to have sex with him anymore. I told him I wasn’t in the mood one night. He was furious. It became a lot easier to give in. And to pretend like I enjoyed the sex, when I was really just so tired. And so empty, like he’d been sucking out my soul. I was miserable.” Feyre stuttered a bit here, thinking of how many times she had submitted to him purely out of despair.

“His family friend, Ianthe, didn’t make matters any better. She lived nearby and came over often. She was so nice to me around him, but when we were alone, she was so very condescending. Patronizing. I grew to hate her, and then I grew to not care anymore.

“It was so hard to feel any emotions when I had such a big hole in me. Lucien, the friend that I mentioned, was the only person I cared about anymore. He was good to me. He tried to shield me from the worst of my boyfriend’s fits of anger.” Feyre had been very careful not mentioning Tamlin’s name, just in case. “Lucien made me laugh, too, not something I did a lot of anymore. I loved him like a brother. But then one day, two months after I moved in...”

-

_Four Months Ago_

Feyre couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Tamlin had proposed to her at dinner. _Proposed._ And Feyre had said she had to think about it and ran up to her room.

She was so tired now. There was little fight left in her. If she agreed to marry him, how would she ever get out? But he had taken over her bank account when she moved in, claiming legalities. Feyre didn’t work anymore - she would be on the streets if she left him. But that couldn’t be the only reason. No; he had been to nice. Perhaps less as of late, but he was stressed. Controlling a multi-million dollar company couldn’t be easy. And Tamlin never hit her, not once.

A knock sounded on the door.

Feyre tried to keep her voice as steady as she could when she said, “Tam, I didn’t mean to run away, I just need to think, okay? Give me a minute.”

“It me, Fey. Can I come in?”

Feyre should have known it was Lucien. Tamlin would have been pounding on the door and yelling, not politely tapping. She walked to the door and unlocked it.

Lucien soundlessly entered the room and closed the door behind him. “What are you going to do?” So matter of fact, like choosing which salad dressing she was having. Honestly, it was a little like that. Stay and be miserable. Leave and be homeless. Take your pick.

Feyre sniffled. “I love him. I have to marry him.”

Lucien sighed. “I stay here because I feel obligated to. He helped me once. You, on the other hand... I think you should leave.”

“That would be the better option. But how can I? I’m not strong enough anymore to leave. He’s like a black hole and I’ve gotten too close. If I tried to leave, he wouldn’t be happy about it either. He’s take me and suck me back in.”

“That’s a terrible way to think.” Lucien frowned. He couldn’t explain to her any further why she should leave. They had both been here far too long, poisoned by his words, confused on how to live life.

So he gave her the only comfort he could. Lucien stepped forward and pulled her close, squeezing tightly. Feyre hugged him back letting out a muffled sob against his shoulder. She loved Lucien; truly, she did. He was the caring family she’d never had, the brother always looking to tease her but help her too.

After a minute, Feyre felt better. Her sobs quieted and her face dried of tears. Lucien always had that effect on her, lifting her spirits.

Still Feyre held on. Whatever she decided, Lucien would be there to support her, she just knew it.

Then the door was flung open and it slammed against the wall from the force. Feyre and Lucien separated quickly, almost guiltily, even though they hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

“Cheating on me, Feyre? With my best friend? This is how you treat me after everything I’ve done?” Tamlin’s voice was as loud as it got, visibly shaking the framed paintings hanging from the wall.

Feyre’s eyes widened. “No! We weren’t doing anything. We were...” And that’s when she knew. Knew that if she left, Lucien would stay, no matter what. And he would take the brunt of it. How could she leave her best friend to be abused, mentally and perhaps even physically, for her own selfish wishes? “He was hugging me in congratulation. I told him I decided to marry you.” And just like that, there was no going back.

-

“You agreed to marry him to protect a friend. You portray yourself as weak and helpless, Feyre, but you did a very noble thing.” Dr. Suriel was still speaking in even tones, though she had frowned a bit when Feyre described Tamlin’s behavior, obviously angry at the asshole Feyre had been swept away by.

Feyre just gave a half-smile, not entirely believing the doctor. “I suppose. I could have tried to convince Lucien to leave with me, though. I could have done better.”

“When you look back on things and decide you didn’t do your best when you were in an awful situation,” Dr. Suriel replied, “you lose faith in yourself and your strength. In my opinion, the emotional abuse you tolerated from that man proves exactly the opposite. How did you get away, Feyre?”

Feyre sighed.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You can save it for a later session or never at all. I don’t need to know the details to help you.”

“No, Dr. S-, Liz I mean, I do want to tell you. It feels nice to get it all of my chest. I’m almost at the end of the story anyway.”

Dr. Suriel dipped her head and gestured for Feyre to keep talking.

“Two months after we got engaged...”

-

_Two Months Ago_

“One more week. Then you’re my wife. Isn’t that exciting, Feyre?”

Feyre tried not to frown. His wife. Not “we’re married.” But use of the term wife as if it made her his belonging. As if she was completely and entirely his.

This isn’t what Feyre had wanted. She _had_ wanted to be entirely someone else’s - as long as they were completely hers as well. An equal relationship. A love so deep they gave each other to their equal partner. Feyre had a feeling Tamlin wasn’t planning on giving her anything other than dresses and invitations to send.

At least he had a chef - Feyre was not exactly known for her cooking expertise. And a maid. Alis. Feyre liked Alis very much. She was good company when Feyre was feeling down, which was basically every day now.

“Yes, I can’t wait.” Feyre really tried to put enthusiasm into her voice. Not that Tamlin would notice either way. He didn’t even notice that she was a shadow of her old self, a wraith. That she had lost thirty pounds she hadn’t needed to lose and couldn’t bring herself to pick up a paintbrush anymore. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

No, all he wanted was for her to dress up like some nineteenth century bride and finally be married to him, giving her no way to escape. That’s why they were having the wedding so soon, she was sure of it.

“Feyre!” Ianthe called. She walked into the living room to where they were sitting. “I found the perfect wedding dress for you! Come here.”

Feyre stood. It was so soon until the wedding; she was surprised the dress hadn’t been chosen yet. Not that she’d been paying attention.

“Oh, and Tamlin, don’t come upstairs. It’s bad luck to see the dress before the wedding,” Ianthe added.

Feyre followed Ianthe upstairs.

Fifteen minutes later, she was standing in front of a mirror, staring at her reflection. The first word that came to mind: frilly. Or maybe ridiculous. Oh, and bullshit. Okay, so there were a few words Feyre was thinking about wearing this dress.

Ianthe smiled, but it looked less kind, somehow, and more menacing. “You look absolutely beautiful. Take the dress off, we’ll buy it now.” She had been renting wedding dresses from an expensive boutique until they - she - decided which one was final. Precautions. Feyre wasn’t supposed to leave the house anymore. No one did it like that - renting so many dresses was worth... well, Feyre didn’t know how much this costed, but it sure as hell wasn’t cheap. One of the perks of being a millionaire, she supposed.

Once Feyre struggled out of the monstrosity Ianthe called a dress, she sat down on the bed as Ianthe ran off. Her bed, not that she thought of it as that anymore. Tamlin’s bed.

Someone knocked on the door. Feyre had figured out by now that Ianthe didn’t knock, she just breezed in. Tamlin didn’t knock either; instead he busted open the door as if trying to catch her in the act of doing something wrong. As if she had the strength for rule-breaking. And Alis’ polite tapping was always accompanied by a “Miss?” Which meant that the gentle but firm wrap on the door could only be Lucien.

“Come in,” Feyre called.

Sure enough, it was Lucien who opened the door. “I heard you picked out a wedding dress.” He looked just as depressed as Feyre at that thought, at the whole situation.

In response Feyre only patted the bed next to her.

Lucien closed the door behind him. He sat and gently grabbed Feyre’s hand. “Tamlin wasn’t always like this. He used to be kind. I don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t know what to do, Lu. I just want to curl up in a ball and die.” Feyre couldn’t even bring herself to cry. That’s how lifeless she had become.

“Tell him you need time,” Lucien suggested. “He might listen. Even if he doesn’t... Feyre, you can’t continue like this. Or else one of these days you _will_ curl up and die. I mean it, Fey. As your friend, I insist that you stop this wedding, something I should have told you much sooner.”

“Okay.”

“I know you love him but... okay?” Lucien looked shocked that Feyre had agreed so easily. Probably because she had had countless chances to do this before, so why agree now?

She sighed. “I can’t do this anymore. I’ll tell him I’m not ready to get married. If he understands and puts off the wedding, I’ll see that he isn’t completely lost. If he yells, I’m done. I’m leaving. At least the staff have the day off - no collateral. I wish I had done this sooner too. If worst comes to worst, thank you for being my friend.”

Lucien shook his head. “I knew what he was doing to you, but I didn’t even try to stop it. What kind of friend am I?”

Feyre gave his hand a squeeze. “A good one, Lucien. You are just as controlled and suppressed as I am. How were you supposed to intervene? I just wish if it comes to it, you would come with me. You’re so lost here, Lu. Please, if I go, go too.” She looked pleadingly into his eyes.

Feyre was expecting the speech about how Tamlin had saved his life when he barely even knew Lucien’s name. How he had been there for him for years, supporting him, protecting him from the same family that he needed saving from. How Lucien owed it to Tamlin to stay and support him through hard times.

But that speech didn’t come.

To Feyre’s immense astonishment, Lucien said, “I will. I stayed for so long because I thought I had he deserved it, but what he’s been doing to you...”

“You too, Lucien,” Feyre whispered softly.

He gave a half-smile. “What he’s been doing to _us..._ I can’t tolerate it anymore. For your sake, we’re leaving together.” They didn’t bother discussing the possibility that Tamlin would be supportive of Feyre’s choice to postpone the wedding. That wasn’t happening, no doubt about it.

Feyre smiled. Her first real smile in months. “Together,” she repeated, then stood.

“Tamlin,” Feyre called as she entered the dining room. He was still seated at the table, scouring over paperwork. “There’s something I wish to ask of you.”

Lucien was waiting in the hallway. If he was there, Tamlin would accuse them of having an affair, once again. He was so paranoid.

“Yes, love?” Tamlin didn’t even look up.

“It’s important.” Finally his eyes lifted questioningly to Feyre’s.

“I’m not ready to get married. I was hoping we could wait a little longer.” Feyre’s heart was thumping in her chest so hard she was surprised Tamlin couldn’t hear it.

But he just smiled. “Love, most of the wedding has already been planned. Two thousand people have been invited.” Feyre’s eyes widened at this. Holy fuck. She hadn’t been aware of the number of guests. “We simply couldn’t cancel,” he continued, “even if we wanted to.”

“But Tamlin. I _do_ want to. I’m not marrying you yet. I’m just not okay with it.”

He sighed and looked back down at his papers. “Go to your room, Feyre.”

Feyre blinked. “Excuse me?” He didn’t respond. “Do you even hear me?” This aroused Tamlin’s attention, if only because she was yelling now, surprising the both of them. “I’m not wearing that damn dress! Or this big-ass ring.” Feyre pulled off the offending diamond and threw in on the floor. “There’s no way in all of the fucking pits of hell I’m marrying you. I am leaving. You hear me? Leaving!” Feyre had barely raised her voice above a whisper in months; this was certainly something Tamlin hadn’t prepared for.

His eyes were narrowed. Tamlin frowned upon Feyre using bad language. This was tipping him over the edge. “Do _you_ even hear _me_?” Tamlin repeated her words. “I told you to go to your fucking room. I have a meeting to go to now. We will discuss this later. And maybe I’ll wash out that filthy mouth of yours while we’re at it.” But it was okay for him to drop an f-bomb. Because he wasn’t a woman. Because women should be polite and well-mannered.

“Fuck you, Tamlin,” Feyre yelled. Lucien had entered the room, now, obviously concerned. “I’m done!”

Then she made her fatal mistake. Feyre stormed toward the front door... which was past Tamlin. In a flash, he was standing and pinning her against the wall. “YOU ARE NO SUCH THING! YOU ARE _MINE!_ ”

“Let go of her!” Lucien shouted, lunging across the room at Tamlin. Faster than Feyre could blink, Lucien was on the floor. His eyes were closed.

“No,” Feyre whimpered. There was something oozing down her neck: blood, she realized. Her head had hit the hall. That was why everything was so fuzzy.

And then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe I feel so evil. Don’t hate me guys.


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 9 (Part Three)**

And then everything went dark.

-

Feyre finished with a sob.

Dr. Suriel passed over a tin of cookies Feyre hadn’t noticed before but which she happily accepted.

“Thank you, Liz.”

Feyre distantly wondered if Dr. Suriel had ever dealt with someone with such a horrific story as Feyre. Perhaps not. Perhaps even among the broken people, Feyre was alone.

Dr. Suriel sat in pensive silence as Feyre nibbled on a cookie. Chocolate chip, her favorite.

“You have an extremely gruesome past,” the doctor finally said. “But I think that you aren’t broken. I can see that you worry that you are, but I don’t believe anyone is truly broken.” Dr. Suriel smiled.

“Thank you,” Feyre responded. “I don’t know how much I believe you, but thank you.”

Dr. Suriel just smiled wider. Feyre liked the way she didn’t pressure Feyre into telling her story. Not that this was particularly extraordinary; it was in the job description, after all. Still, Feyre trusted her.

“I want to finish telling you what happened now,” Feyre said after a minute. Dr. Suriel listened quietly as she started.

“When I woke up, I was in my room. His room. On the bed. I remembered what had happened and I jolted up, faster than I should have. It made my head hurt worse.

“It took a minute to remember what had happened. I recalled how Lucien had been unconscious and I was so worried.

“I ran to the door. It was locked. I realized that I was trapped. I thought I might never get out. That’s the moment that haunts my nightmares the most. Being contained.

“I pounded on the door, I screamed. I yelled for my fiancé to let me out, for Lucien to wake up and be okay. That only lasted for a minute before I heard footsteps.

“I was convinced my fiancé had come to punish me. But it wasn’t. Lucien yelled from the other side of the door to stand back. I was so relieved he was okay that I almost didn’t move in time.

“Lucien kicked the door open. When he saw me standing there, he looked relieved too. He ran over and checked my head injury, while I just stood there. He asked me if I was okay.

“I didn’t know how to answer that question. I was still putting together what had happened, and I definitely didn’t feel okay. But I said yes and asked if he was hurt.

“Lucien wasn’t. He told me he had only been unconscious for seconds; he woke up and the first thing he saw was me passing out, still pinned to the wall by the man I had loved.” Feyre shuddered at this, still remembering his iron grip.

“My fiancé had carried me to the bedroom like a rag doll, he said. Lucien had stood up and gone after him.

“And he just put me on the bed, walked out, and used a key to lock it. He pocketed the key and turned to Lucien. And he said that Lucien needed to make sure I stayed in the room, as if Lu hadn’t just been knocked out by him.

“Lucien told him he would. And then he left for his meeting. He actually left.

“As soon as he was out of the house, Lucien heard me start whacking the door and shouting. Apparently I wasn’t unconscious for long either. Not a minute earlier and my fiancé would have heard.” Feyre shuddered. “Lu came running and, of course, you know he broke it open.

“The staff had the day off, like I told you. It was just us in the whole mansion. I got up and started packing. Not my things; I didn’t have anything I cared for there. But my fiancé’s most expensive trinkets. Anything that looked like solid money, I grabbed it and stuffed it into a suitcase to pawn.

“But when I turned around, Lucien was just looking at me. I told him to get his belongings but he just stared.

“And then he said he was staying.

“I didn’t understand. I was suddenly furious. I started yelling. Asking how he could bring himself to leave with me before, but when my fiancé did _that,_ he was staying.

“Lucien quieted me quickly. He told me that if the two of us just left, my fiancé would get off scot-free. But Lucien knew there was corruption in his company. Lu was close to him; if anyone could expose the fraud, it was him. Because, after what that man had done to me, leaving wasn’t enough for him anymore.

“I was devastated. I pleaded with him, tried to tell him I was staying too, then, but he wouldn’t let me. Lucien finished packing for me, adding a couple changes of clothes. Then he gave the suitcase to me and shoved me out the front door.

“The last I saw of Lucien he smashed a vase against the table. Then he grimly got down on the floor and closed his eyes. It looked like he had been hit on the head, with all the vase shards around him. Hit by me, I realized. The story was that I had gotten out somehow, and knocked out Lucien.

“I guess the injury my fiancé had given him might be an excuse as to where I supposedly hit him. But I didn’t know how he would explain trying to help me before. Or why the door was kicked in, not out. Or any of it. He was surely to be found out. But I was in shock, so I left. I just walked away and left him there.

“He had told me if he succeeded, he would try to contact me. But until then, we couldn’t risk communicating.” Feyre sniffled, ridden with guilt for abandoning her friend.

“My fiancé must have been so angry at him. For everything he had let happen, and for what I had done too. He liked to take his fury out on other people. And I haven’t heard from him. I know he said I wouldn’t, not that he could know how to anyway, but still...”

Feyre suddenly didn’t want to talk about leaving Lucien to face the consequences of her actions anymore. She pushed on.

“I went to the sleaziest pawn shop I could find, one that wouldn’t ask questions. I sold all of his junk. It was a lot of money. Much more than I had expected, enough to live off of for a while.

“And then I walked to the bus station. I rode to my father’s home. He let me in, said I could stay for as long as I needed. Since my mother was dead and my sisters moved out, it was just him. I hadn’t told him what had happened, just that I broke up with my fiancé and needed a place to crash, but then slipped and hit my head. He treated it as best as he could. He tried to get me to go to the hospital, but I refused.

“I stayed for a day. Just one. I knew my fiancé would look for me there, so I packed some old clothes and rented a cheap hotel room a few miles away. It didn’t need to be cheap; I was suddenly in possession of a lot of money. I didn’t want my ID checked, though. I knew my fiancé had a lot of influence. So I got a tiny, dingy hotel room that didn’t ask too many questions, and after months of comfort and luxury, it was surprisingly nice.

“I stayed for over a month and a half. The first day of that time I called my friend Mor. At my fiancé’s behest, I had disconnected with her. I felt awful asking for help after that, but I was desperate.

“I told her everything. I didn’t leave out a single detail. She swore herself to secrecy and listened and once I was through, she was enraged. She wanted to fly to Detroit and hunt down my fiancé then and there. But I convinced her not to. She told me her roommate, Kallias, was leaving in a month. That she had been searching for a new roommate anyway.

“She wanted me to come sooner, but I refused. Said I needed a few weeks to pull myself together and that she needed to attend to her job and her life and I would be fine. Mor was so persistent, but eventually I convinced her that I _wanted_ to be alone for a little while.

“The whole time my phone was ringing constantly. From him. I thought about blocking him, but I wanted to know when and how much he called. To see if it would ever lessen. I know he looked for me, but I couldn’t tell how much. Being rich and famous and whatever, he couldn’t go public about the fact that he had scared off his fiancée. So even though I watched the news on the little TV in the lobby, I never saw anything. I know he searched, though.

“It was near the end of my time there that I came across a magazine with our names on it and the details of my absence, but everything was just theories. And, of course, I looked like the villain. He’s rich; how could he ever be in the wrong?” Feyre sighed.

“I ended up staying a couple of extra weeks after Mor’s roommate moved out, sneaking into my father’s house a couple of times to get some more things, including my favorite paintings. I collected myself and felt almost happy by the time I flew here. Mor had told all her friends I was coming to pursue my dreams as an artist, which was technically true. I rented out a studio not too far away. I’ve been using the rest of the money I got from pawning his things as my savings. And then Mor suggested therapy after I got another call from my ex-fiancé. And here I am.” Feyre finished with a sniffle. Tears were freshly streaming down her face.

Dr. Suriel thought for a minute. “My next patient will be here soon. It’s time to wrap up. But considering the tragic circumstances, I would definitely recommend coming back for more sessions. Getting everything off of your chest probably isn’t enough.” Feyre silently shook her head. “I didn’t think so. We can discuss how to help you next time, but in the meantime, how about self-defense classes?”

Feyre was surprised. “What?”

“You describe how helpless your fiancé made you feel. If you could defend yourself, perhaps you might feel more confident. This is just a suggestion that I give to any patients with similar trauma. If you don’t think it would be helpful, you of course aren’t pressured to do anything.”

Feyre thought for a minute. “No, I... that sounds like a good idea. I actually think I’d really like to try that.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “Good luck with that, then. You can register for more sessions at the front desk.”

Feyre stood, as did the doctor. “Thank you so much for your help, Liz. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this was very helpful.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “Of course, Feyre. You are most certainly welcome. See you next time.”

They walked down the hall and Feyre was heading toward the desk when Dr. Suriel called the name of her next patient. “Rhys.”

Feyre froze. Then she turned. Rhys was there, staring at her, his eyes widened. She watched, speechless as he took in her still-red eyes.

Rhys was the first to recover. “Feyre, darling, what a pleasant surprise.” He attempted to arrange his features into that smirk he always wore. He did a rather good job of it, despite the circumstances.

Dr. Suriel cleared her throat. “You two are acquainted?”

Rhys responded, “Yes, Feyre is my cousin’s friend. Um, I should probably be going. It was nice to see you, darling.”

Feyre managed a nod. It was only when he awkwardly walked through the door that Feyre realized she hadn’t spoken once.

Dr. Suriel had an eyebrow raised in Feyre’s direction, but then she followed Rhys down the hall. He had gone first as if he knew the way - had Rhys been here before? And the doctor had called for Rhys, not Rhysand Night. Yes, Rhys was definitely a regular here. Why? What did he need help with?

She turned to find the curious looks of several waiting patients aimed at her. Feyre quickly walked to the desk. She registered and payed for several more sessions. Then Feyre all but bolted out the door.

Rhys’ problems weren’t any of her business. Whether or not she cared - which she didn’t, of course - Rhysand had a right to his privacy. He didn’t deserve to have Feyre poking around his personal issues.

But what was he thinking about her? Did he wonder why Feyre was walking out of the therapist’s office with red eyes?

It didn’t matter, she told herself firmly. They would both forget this little incident and stop wondering about what the other was going through. Or maybe Rhys hadn’t been wondering the first place.

Either way, Feyre was going to go home and take a nice, long bath to calm her nerves. She was so preoccupied with thoughts of Rhys, though, and Tamlin as well, that Feyre didn’t notice when she passed the subway station altogether.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a bit longer to post - I got a lot of books for Christmas that I’ve been getting through. Sorry, enjoy!

**Day 12**

Feyre let out a low moan.

Rhys’ mouth was running over her center, licking and sucking. His tongue swirled around her clit and Feyre writhed beneath him.

“You like that, darling?”

Feyre whimpered in reply. She cried out when two of his fingers entered her at once, then were yanked back out. They were immediately thrust back in, then out. He kept at it, to the point where she started to forget her own name. But not his. “Rhys,” Feyre whined.

He chuckled, not pausing the movements of his fingers. His breath caressed Feyre’s center. “Yes, darling?”

“Rhys, please,” she cried. “I’m so close.”

Feyre could feel him smirk against her sensitive skin. “You’re always so easy to get worked up. You really like me, don’t you?”

“Prick,” Feyre half muttered, half groaned.

Rhysand chuckled once more. “What do you want? Say it.”

“I want you to make me come.”

“Good girl,” he murmured. Rhys slammed his fingers inside of her and sucked on her clit, hard. Feyre teetered toward the edge, then orgasmed with a long, breathy moan.

Rhys smiled against her thigh, obviously pleased with himself, as his fingers worked her down from her orgasm. “That’s it, darling.”

“Fuck, Rhys.” Feyre could barely move, paralyzed by ecstasy.

“What now, darling? Do you want my cock inside of you?”

Feyre groaned at the thought. “Please. Please, please.”

Rhys smirked as he climbed up her body. “I bet you’ll feel so good on me.” He lowered his head to meet Feyre’s mouth for a passionate kiss. Her tongue slid into his mouth and Rhys groaned.

Just as she felt his tip slide along her entrance...

_Beep, beep, beep._

Feyre’s eyes flew open. What the hell. What the fucking hell.

She reached over and aggressively tapped at her phone until it stopped beeping, then lay back against the pillows.

_Tell me that did not just happen. Please, someone tell me._ But it had happened. Feyre’s panties were soaked enough to prove it, not to mention the pleasant soreness she was feeling down there. Shit.

Feyre had just had a very dirty dream about Rhys. And she couldn’t help but wish it hadn’t ended. If her alarm had gone off just one minute later...

Feyre lunged out of bed and stormed down the hall into the bathroom, not even bothering to put on pants. Maybe Mor was at work already. Oh gods, Mor - had she heard? How loud had Feyre been?

Feyre scolded herself for worrying; if Mor had heard she could threaten her later. Right now, she needed a shower. A very cold one.

Fifteen minutes of furious scrubbing later, a morose Feyre emerged from the bathroom wearing a towel. She stomped into the kitchen area, not bothering to dress before grabbing a banana and angrily peeling it.

“Um, you okay?”

Startled, Feyre looked up to find Mor leaning against the counter with a concerned expression. Mor continued. “I never asked you how therapy was because I didn’t want to pressure you. Too many memories brought back?”

“No, therapy was fine. Good, actually. I told the doctor everything and it felt really nice to say it all.” Feyre gave a weak smile.

“Well, what’s with the mood then? Are you sure you’re okay?” Mor was frowning.

If Feyre just kept it to herself, Mor would think something was actually wrong - not that this wasn’t bad. Oh, it was very bad. Still... Feyre wanted to vent. “Swear not to tell anyone,” Feyre demanded.

Mor didn’t hesitate before she said, “I swear.”

“Do you want to know why I’m in a mood, Morrigan?” Feyre stepped toward Mor, then abruptly stopped, suddenly aware she was only in a towel with her banana pointed at Mor like a knife.

Mor chuckled nervously. “Um, maybe?”

“I am in a mood because I had a dream.” One of Mor’s eyebrows raised. “A nasty little dream about your nasty little cousin!” Feyre was nearly shouting at this point. If wasn’t fair, though. Why couldn’t she _not_ have sexy dreams about that fucking asshole?

Mor blinked... and then burst into laughter. “Oh. My. Gods. You. Hehehe. Oh gods.”

Feyre scowled. “Stop laughing. It’s not funny.”

“It’s. So. Hahahaha. Oh my dear.”

“Stop it! Ugh!” Feyre violently devoured her banana while Mor cackled, then stormed back to her room to change. The laughter only increased as she left.

Feyre dropped her towel and pulled on sweats and a t-shirt. She went back to the bathroom and put the towel on her hook then re-entered the kitchen. Mor had slumped to the floor and was silently shaking. “It’s not that fucking funny!”

Mor burst into another fit of giggles. “Yes it is. I’m sorry. No, I’m not. Oh my gods. Just how nasty was this dream?”

Feyre only glowered at her.

“Tell me!” Mor exclaimed.

“Tell you the details of your cousin’s bedroom activities?”

“Um, ew, no. But it was a dream, so it’s just a dream-guy. Not actually Rhys.”

Feyre sighed. “Like I’d ever give you details.”

Mor grinned. “You like him!”

“Fine, I will admit that he is attractive, as I’m sure you’ve figured out. But I do not _like_ him. Not romantically. Not as a person. He annoys me.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re obviously attracted to him sexually, I got that. But I think that’s not all. It isn’t, is it?” Mor smirked. Like cousin, like cousin, apparently.

“Fucking hell, stop saying that. I don’t, and even if I did, there is a bet, remember? And these absolutely nonexistent feelings are not conning me out of one hundred dollars.” Feyre nearly mentioned that it might be awkward between the two as well, having caught each other at therapy last Friday. Then she realized Mor might not know Rhys went there, and she didn’t was to out him, so she kept quiet.

“You know what? As much I love listening to you tease me about your jerk cousin, I need to be going.”

Mor snorted. “At nine in the morning? You have a very flexible schedule. Do you really expect me to believe you have to leave this very instant?”

“Actually,” Feyre said, “at the suggestion of my therapist, I am sighing up for self-defense classes. And Monday is a good day to be productive. Speaking of, do you know a good gym around here?”

Mor eagerly smiled, still not bothering to get off the floor, though. “As a matter of fact, Cassian - you met him the other day - works at a gym. He could teach you self-defense, if you want. Which I think is a very good idea, by the way. Then you can beat Tamlin into the fucking ground.”

Feyre giggled then said, “Cassian seemed very friendly. How do I get there?”

-

Feyre entered the gym. It was fairly large and had nice equipment. She walked to the receptionist’s desk, but before she could say a word, a booming “Feyre!” echoed across the space.

Feyre looked over and saw Cassian striding over to her, a grin of his face. She smiled back. “Hello, Cassian. Mor said I would find you here.”

“What can I help you with?”

Feyre couldn’t help but snort when he waggled his eyebrows. “I’m interested in learning self-defense.”

Cassian’s grin widened. “Lovely. Cerridwen, check her in please.” He aimed this last statement at the receptionist.

Once everything was sorted, Cassian led Feyre to a private room in the back. “So what’s the motivation for learning how to fight? Rhys hasn’t been pestering you enough to warrant a broken nose, has he?”

Feyre giggled. “Actually, that’s my sole reason. Just so I can beat the shit out of Rhys.”

Cassian grinned. He wisely chose not to comment on her evasion, however. “So let’s start with some basic maneuvers...”

-

An hour passed. Apparently things were pretty slow in the gym if Cassian could just abandon whatever he was doing and spend an hour with an unscheduled client. Feyre didn’t ask about it, too absorbed by the new techniques she was learning on how to defend herself against an attacker.

They were finally moving on to punching. Cassian showed Feyre how to throw a punch without breaking all of her fingers. He was holding a pad out for her to hit.

“You’ve got the technique down pretty well,” Cassian commended after a while. “Just try hitting harder.”

“Like this?” Feyre asked, hurtling her fist toward the pad at full speed.

Cassian replied, “Better, but not enough. I think you can hit harder than that. Try thinking of someone you really, really hate. Imagine their face instead of the pad.”

Feyre hesitated. If she thought of Tamlin, she might burst into tears, which was not what she wanted to happen right now. Who else...

Feyre let her fist fly.

Cassian grunted. “That’s some serious hatred right there. Mind if I ask who you’re thinking of?”

Feyre smirked. “You wouldn’t know them.” A lie. Because she was conjuring Rhys’ face. And she kept punching.

Did she hate him? No, probably not. He was annoying and a prick, but she didn’t know him well enough to hate him. He did do things she didn’t approve of, however, such as worming his way into her dreams. Definitely Rhys’ fault.

How dare he be so handsome?

Punch.

How dare he call her darling?

Jab.

How dare he make Feyre dream of his damned tongue?

Punch, jab, punch.

“Hello, darling.”

“What the fuck?” Feyre gasped and spun around, Cassian chuckling behind her.

Rhys was standing in the room that they were in. Of course he was. Because of all the rooms in the city, he was in the same one as her. Against all odds. Rhys had broken the rules of probability just to annoy her.

“Why are you here?” Feyre asked. Okay perhaps her tone was a little too harsh, but she had spent the night being thoroughly pleasured by Rhys - and he didn’t even know it. She was furious.

Rhys just smirked. (As if there’s something else he would have done. Him and his fucking smirks.) “Cassian and I eat lunch together on Mondays. I got here early, and when Cerridwen mentioned a new client named Feyre, I just couldn’t resist saying hi.”

Feyre frowned. “Hi.”

Cassian snorted. “You mentioned helping Feyre move into her new studio, Rhys. I take things didn’t go well?”

A grin appeared on Rhysand’s face. “I beg to differ. We’re the best of friends now, isn’t that right, darling?”

Feyre just scowled at him.

A laugh bubbled in Cassian’s throat. “Well, glad to see we’ve made progress. It’s my break now, but you should join us for lunch, Feyre. I’m sure we have an extra sandwich around here somewhere.” Even though Rhys claimed to be early, it was still only ten o’clock. Maybe the two liked to eat early lunch.

Feyre smiled graciously. “Thanks for the offer, and the training, but I should head out now. I need to finish a painting I was working on.” Technically true.

“That’s a shame,” Rhys answered. He sounded sincere, seeming to have forgotten the awkward encounter at the therapist’s office.

Cassian patted Feyre on the head. With anyone else she wouldn’t have tolerated this, but Cassian just had this likeable way about him. “You did well today, kiddo. Planning on taking more lessons?” Kiddo? Feyre decided to ignore this part.

“Yeah, definitely. I’ll register. Thanks again.”

The two men said goodbye to Feyre and let her walk out of the private room. She did indeed pay for a few more sessions at the front desk then headed onto the street outside.

Gods, there was no way Feyre would have been able to stay for lunch. She would have ended up pummeling Rhys... or maybe jumping him. Grabbing his shirt and pulling him in and-

_I did not just think that. There is not way in all of Hellas’ realm that I just thought that because I despise Rhys and would never want to do anything like that... though the dream seems to indicate otherwise. No, Feyre, don’t turn against yourself._

Having an argument with herself in her own head? Feyre suddenly decided she was looking forward to therapy on Friday.


	8. Chapter 8

**Day 16**

_Rhys is a prick. Rhys is a prick. Rhys is a prick._

This is what Feyre chanted to herself as she pumped her fingers into herself and rubbed furiously at her clit.

It was Friday. Therapy day. Also four days after the first wet dream about Rhys. She’d just had her second.

Feyre had awoken to a throbbing clit. She had proceeded to remember the barest details of her dream. It had been a little hazy, but there were hands running over her skin. An arrogant attitude. A lazy grin. Shit.

No amount of concentrating or fist-clenching could quench the ache Feyre was feeling. That’s how worked up she was. And she couldn’t just leave it.

So Feyre worked herself, pretending Rhys had nothing to do with it. Hence the chanting.

_Rhys is a prick. Rhys... oh, fuck. I’m so close. Oh..._

Feyre came with a quiet but still audible moan. _Please tell me Mor didn’t hear that._

Feyre got out of bed slowly, then walked to the bathroom. She took a cold shower (once again), then got out and dressed. It was nearly eleven. Feyre hadn’t slept so late since high school.

She ate some cereal, having looked for Mor, who was already at work. Then Feyre got her purse and walked out the door.

-

Four and a half hours later, Feyre entered the therapist’s office. She had just finished up a painting and sorted through some bills.

Having already payed for the sessions, she sat on a chair like last time. Feyre was less nervous this time, but still fidgeting. She tried to still her fingers.

“Feyre,” called Dr. Suriel from the doorway, a welcoming smile on her face.

Feyre stood. “Hello, Liz,” she greeted as she walked to the door.

Dr. Suriel led Feyre down the hallway to her office and the two seated themselves. “How are you feeling today, Feyre?”

Feyre grinned. “Great, actually. I tried out self-defense like you suggested.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. How did it go?”

“Well, my friend Mor, the one I mentioned last time, suggested this one gym because her friend works there. Cassian. So he taught me the basics, which was fun, and then... well, actually, I saw Rhys there. Mor’s cousin. I guess you know him because he was here, um...” Feyre cleared her throat. “Anyway, I signed up for some more classes and left. It was good.” Feyre prayed she wasn’t blushing at the mention of Rhys’ name.

The doctor smiled kindly. “About Rhys...”

Shit. Feyre probably was blushing. “Yeah?”

“You seemed a little flustered when you ran into him last week. And now. Are you attracted to him?” Damned therpists and their questions.

Feyre hesitated. “Um, not really. No.”

That answer produced a raised eyebrow from Dr. Suriel. “Are you sure? He’s relatively handsome.”

Feyre was certain she had just said that to provoke her. Who knew therapists could be so sneaky? “Well, I suppose. But I don’t really like people based on their looks.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “That’s a good attitude to have on the subject. Do you like him for any other reasons?”

“Uh, no.”

This got another smile out of Liz. “Alright. I’ll take your word on that. Is there anyone you _do_ like romantically?”

Rhys. No. Fuck. Not Rhys. “No one comes to mind.” Feyre tried to sound convincing. She didn’t succeed.

“Okay.” Feyre could tell Dr. Suriel wasn’t buying it, but luckily no therapist was going to make her spill the beans. “If you did like someone, would you act on it? Or do you need more time after everything that’s happened?”

Feyre thought about this one. “I think I would go for it. My ex-fiancé doesn’t deserve my guilt. He doesn’t have the right to leave me miserable forever. But I would definitely take it slow. While the feelings might be easy, the trust will take some work.”

“I’m glad you’re not allowing your fiancé to damper your happiness. And that you realize you might have difficulty building trust. Self-awareness is very important when it comes to healing from trauma.”

Feyre gave a small smile. The she realized - she was not self-aware if she couldn’t admit she wanted to fuck Rhys. She did and there was no denying it. And, after all, a therapist isn’t allowed to openly judge you or tell anyone your dirty secrets.

“Actually, Liz, I... think I might want Rhys. Sexually.” Feyre was staring at her lap.

“Well,” started Dr. Suriel. Feyre looked up. “I must say, I figured. It’s alright not to want to tell me, and if that’s all you want to say about it, that’s okay. But why don’t you say something to Rhys?”

“Ah, you see, there’s this...” Feyre had been about to say bet when she realized - _She may not inform anyone else of this bet in any way_. That was from the contract. And shrinks counted as anyone. Fuck. “I actually can’t tell you about it. Like I swore not to. But there’s a reason and it means I can’t do anything with Rhys for the next... what eighty-some days?” Dr. Suriel raised her eyebrows. “But I wouldn’t anyway.”

“And why is that? I though you just said you’d go for it.”

“Rhys is... I don’t know. He’s not like that? He’s just annoying. That’s the word.”

Dr. Suriel chuckled. “He’s annoying. And yet you like him?”

“Not _like_ him per se. More like want him, like... I’ve had dreams.”

“Oh?” The doctor had a knowing smile on her lips.

“I’m not going to go into any detail about these dreams, so let’s just say they were rather indecent.

“But he gets on my nerves! His smirking and the way he calls me darling just to annoy me and his entire manner is just aggravating! He’s your patient; surely you understand? Sorry, you’re not allowed to talk about patients. But still!”

Dr. Suriel was laughing with a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Feyre. I’m not supposed to laugh.”

“It’s alright,” Feyre said. “I would be laughing too. I know I sound ridiculous.” Indeed, she had a smile forming on her own face.

“Not ridiculous, exactly,” Dr. Suriel amended. “I _do_ know Rhys, and while I can’t say anything about him, I understand what you’re saying.”

“Thank you! Gods, he’s so frustrating.”

Dr. Suriel grinned. “And how was the rest of your week?”

-

“Yes, thanks again. See you next week, Liz.” Feyre walked through the doorway into the waiting room.

“Feyre. Always a pleasure.” Rhys was lounging on one of the chairs. He stood when Feyre came in, it being time for him to go back with Dr. Suriel.

Rhys looked like his normal self: cocky, self-assured, smirky. He was obviously expecting to see Feyre, and she mentally scolded herself for not considering the possibility he would be here. He had been last week, after all.

“Rhys,” Feyre greeted curtly.

He just grinned and walked past her. Feyre caught a glimpse of Dr. Suriel’s face as her gaze followed Rhys. The doctor wore a kind smile as she said hello, which didn’t alter as her eyes turned to Feyre for a moment. Thank the gods for confidentiality and compassion; Mor would be waggling her eyebrows and Rhys would definitely catch on.

Feyre quickly turned and left.

She hurried to the subway and then walked the remaining block to Mor’s cafe. Upon entering, Feyre saw one of Mor’s friends seated at a window table near the door. What was his name? Azriel.

He glanced over and caught sight of her. A small but friendly smile lit his features as he recognized her. “Feyre, it’s nice to see you again. You should join me.”

“Oh,” Feyre said. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

Azriel shook his head. “You wouldn’t be. I’m in need of some company anyway.”

Feyre got the feeling he was a man who valued solitude, but he was clearly well-mannered and trying to make her feel welcome. “Thanks, I will. I just need to order first.”

Feyre greeted Mor at the register, who squealed and said, “Feyre! You’re here!”

Feyre grinned. “You make it seem like you haven’t seen me in years. We were together just last night.”

Mor smiled sheepishly. “Doesn’t hurt to spread the love.” Feyre snorted.

“Ordering today?” Mor asked.

“Surprise me.”

Mor smiled. “That can be arranged.”

“Why do you make it sound like you’re going to poison me?”

A chuckle escaped Mor. “I promise to serve you a lovely dish. You might want to watch the drinks, though. We put arsenic in all of those. Speaking of...”

“I’ll just have a water, please.”

“Coming right up.” Mor winked at Feyre, who just rolled her eyes.

Mor looked behind Feyre and said, “Azriel’s over there. You should go sit with him. I think you’ll both really like each other.”

“Yeah, he invited me to. Is he single?” Feyre asked for the sole purpose of annoying Mor. But she kept her voice serious.

Mor frowned. “Um, you’re not really...”

“What?” Feyre asked. “He’s handsome.”

A small noise came out of Mor. She blinked. “Well, yes he’s single. He kind of had a crush on me before I told him I’m gay. But he hasn’t really had any serious relationships that I know of. Though it wouldn’t surprise me too much if he did and hasn’t told us; he’s very secretive. But really, I don’t think the two of you would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Feyre was not letting this go. Like hell she would forget the teasing and the trying to set her up with Rhys. And the laughing attack when Mor was told about the wet dream. Revenge.

Mor frowned again. “I should go make your food or something.” She turned and walked away.

Feyre walked over to the table where Azriel was seated. “Hello again. Thanks for letting me sit with you.”

Another of Azriel’s small, kind smiles appeared. “We haven’t seen each other since the day you got here. It would be nice to get better acquainted.”

Feyre agreed and smiled warmly at him. Just before she could respond, she noticed his hands. Scarred. Badly. What the hell had happened? _Damn, Feyre, don’t you realize how rude staring at his hands like this is? Turn away!_

Feyre lifted her gaze back to Azriel’s face, who was watching her with a knowing look. She hadn’t been staring for more than a few seconds, but she felt bad all the same. Whatever had happened to Azriel was none of her business. She gave what she hoped was an apologetic look. It probably was more of a wince.

Feyre was searching her thoughts for something to break the silence when Azriel said, “What was that with Mor? She seems a bit mopey.”

Feyre grinned, grateful for the attempt at easing the tension and amused at the topic. “She’s trying to set me up with Rhys so I asked her if you’re single. If she asks, I’ve totally been flirting with you. And you’re into me.”

Azriel chuckled, a soft, musical sound. “I will most certainly tell her that. Her matchmaker skills have been known to annoy the most calm-tempered of people. Payback is necessary.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow. “You’re rather calm-tempered. You wouldn’t happen to be referring to yourself, would you?”

“One time Mor thought I had a crush on a woman, so she all but threw me at her. I knocked the both of us down and spent the next fifteen minutes handing her napkins to wipe her coffee off of her blouse and telling her how sorry I was that I tripped. She wasn’t pleased. Thank the gods I didn’t actually like her.”

Feyre gasped. “I didn’t know that! My gods, it sounds like her, though. Shoving people. She’s not awfully tactful, is she?”

Azriel grinned. It was a rather unexpected grin, full of teeth, and Feyre liked it. “Not at all. We still love her, though.”

Feyre snorted. “It is hard not to love Mor.”

“Did someone say my name?” Mor walked over with Feyre’s food: a very extravagant-looking omelette.

Azriel smoothly replied. “We were just talking about how grateful we are for you. You know, encouraging Feyre to ask me out.” Bless this under-appreciated man.

“You’re going on a date?” Mor squeaked.

Feyre smiled. “We are.” She (barely) lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned toward Mor. “I think we might be in love.”

Azriel snorted. Feyre hadn’t expected such a sound to come of this genteel man, but she liked him all the better for it.

“Feyre Archeron!” Mor gasped. “You’re messing with me! You too, Az?”

Azriel responded, “You deserved that. You’re trying to set Feyre up with Rhys, I hear. Why am I not surprised?”

Mor stuck out her tongue.

“Very mature, Mor,” Feyre said with a smile.

Mor flipped Feyre off. “How’s that for mature?” She had a grin on her face.

“Well,” said Azriel, “if you didn’t own the place, you would definitely be fired, treating customers like that.”

Mor sighed. “I recall telling you, Feyre, that Azriel is the only nice one of the group. I take that back.” She turned and walked back behind the counter, throwing them a glare she looked over.

Feyre and Azriel both laughed.

“So what do you do for a living, Azriel?” Feyre asked.

Azriel smiled. “I work for the CIA. That’s about all I’m allowed to tell you.”

“Really?” Feyre gasped. “That’s so cool!”

“Painting is cool too.” This man just kept getting better and better. “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, but I like admiring art.”

Feyre smiled. “Well, I appreciate it, but I still think being a CIA agent is fucking awesome.”

Azriel chuckled.

-

“Feyre, what did you think of Az?” Mor asked when they walked out of the cafe together. Feyre had waited until Mor’s shift ended to leave. “Other than being in love with him,” Mor added.

Feyre giggled. “You’re so easy to annoy. He was very nice, actually. I think he’ll make a very good friend. And he works in the CIA! You didn’t mention that sooner?” Feyre thought about asking why his hands were so scarred, but that was private.

Mor smiled gleefully. “Doesn’t it feel great to be friends with a real-life spy? I keep begging him to take me on a mission.”

“He goes on missions? What exactly does he do?”

“Well,” Mor started. “He disappears sometimes and won’t say where he goes, so one can only assume. Other than that you know as much as we do. Confidential, apparently.”

A sigh arose from Feyre. “I want to be a badass spy.”

“But you’re already a badass painter.”

Feyre glared at Mor. “Stop preaching and agree with me. You know he’s cooler than the both of us put together.”

“Fine.” Mor giggled. “Okay, he’s totally cooler. Makes me look back on my life and wonder what I did wrong.”

Feyre snorted.

“Seriously, Fey, what do you think? Solid black ninja suit. High ponytail. Maybe some leather. Like a female James Bond.”

“Absolutely sexy. You’d rock it,” Feyre agreed.

Mor giggled. “You would too.”

They kept discussing all of the extravagant, and probably untrue, details of being a spy. But Feyre was just happy to have made a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to end it with a little fluff. Just couldn’t help myself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Day 24**

Feyre was pacing up and down the hallway.

Her heart was thumping at too quickly a rate to be healthy.

She couldn’t breathe.

_No, I am okay. I will be okay. This is a good thing and I will go and heal and stop feeling so bad._

At therapy yesterday, Dr. Suriel had suggested a support group for anyone who is suffering or has suffered abuse in a relationship. When Feyre tried to object and say her abuse wasn’t physical until the very end and she didn’t want to intrude, Dr. Suriel had quickly assured her that her abuse was just as real and damaging as being hit. She had said that several other people she knew who attended often were dealing with emotional abuse as well. Dr. Suriel had said that Feyre might not get a feel for the methods they used and she might prefer one-on-one therapy, and that was totally fine. But it couldn’t hurt to check it out and it might prove very beneficial for Feyre.

She had decided to give it a try. And the support group was tonight, Saturday. Hence the nerves.

Feyre has also discussed her anxiety with the doctor yesterday. They hadn’t really gotten into Feyre’s panick attacks with Dr. Suriel before, so she had come clean about the terror that seized her at many moments. Apparently this wasn’t normal - Feyre had been told she had severe anxiety problems that she should talk to a doctor about getting medication for.

Dr. Suriel was never anything but uplifting in her wording, and yet still Feyre felt depressed at the thought of needing medication. She felt nothing but sympathy for the people who struggled with such issues, but was it so selfish to want to be okay?

At least she had her friends to keep her happy. Mor was her rock, constantly making her laugh. She was at her cafe now, and Feyre hadn’t gotten up the nerve to mention the support group. Later, perhaps.

The rest of the friend group had been there as well. All five of the group had met with Feyre a few days ago in her and Mor’s apartment.

Azriel and Cassian were becoming good friends with Feyre the more they talked. Cassian had given Feyre another self-defense class on Monday.

Amren, despite her prickly nature, was growing a soft spot for Feyre, not that she would ever admit that to anyone. Feyre was becoming accustomed to the barbed insults and appreciating the short woman’s wit.

And Rhys... had been there as well. Smirking and flirting and driving Feyre insane. Gods help her, he’d snuck up on her at one point, and when that sultry purr that filled her dreams had floated over her shoulder, Feyre had clamped her thighs together and prayed for salvation.

Feyre pulled herself out of her thoughts. _Stop pacing and get yourself together. This is supposed to help. For fuck’s sake, walk out the damn door before you’re late._

Alright, enough thinking about anxiety and friends and Rhys. No more stalling. Feyre was going to leave the apartment and get to this support group if it was the last thing she did.

Feyre picked up her purse, slid it over a shoulder, and marched out the door.

This group was going to “use experience-based methods and activities to provide further insight into the effects of domestic abuse and how to cope with the complex emotions that it produces,” according to the pamphlet. That sounded like a good plan.

Feyre took the subway to her destination, used to the means of New York transportation by now. She entered the building and met a woman at the entrance.

“Hello, my name is Ms. Wood, but you can call me Weaver. Are you here for the domestic abuse support group?”

Feyre smiled and nodded, too nervous to say anything.

Weaver pointed Feyre to a room where several others were headed as well. She said, “I’ll be back as soon as everyone arrives.”

Feyre once again smiled and nodded, still as a loss for words. She entered the room and took a seat, as the others were doing. There was only one man seated so far, and the rest were women, perhaps half a dozen, with more walking through the door.

After a couple minutes, there were over a dozen people seated around in a circle with only a few open seats left. One such open chair was next to Feyre.

And then one last person walked through the door.

Rhys.

_Am I seeing clearly? Did Rhysand Night really just enter this room? Maybe I’m delusional._

Feyre stared, open-mouthed, at Rhys. Then he turned and spotted her.

Rhys’ eyes widened and his footsteps faltered, but then he quickly regained his composure - he was always so good at that - and walked over. To sit. Next. To. Feyre.

“Hello, darling, I hadn’t expected to see you here. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Feyre blinked. “Uh, yeah. Hi.” _Wow, how very smooth, Feyre. Try not to be too cool._

Rhys smiled, part smirk and part wince. “Well-”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off as Weaver walked into the room. She reintroduced herself for those who had forgotten her name, then took a seat in the circle.

As they started discussing positivity or something, Feyre couldn’t stop herself from sneaking glances at Rhys. She should be paying attention; she was, after all, doing this solely for her own benefit. But Rhys was sitting there and she couldn’t stop the questions from running through her mind.

Why the hell was he here? He had suffered abuse? What kind? When? For how long?

During a particularly long glance, Rhys turned his gaze towards her. Feyre immediately averted her eyes, trying not to wince. She didn’t succeed. After a second, she looked back over and Rhys was still staring at her, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Feyre’s face reddened and she turned away once more.

A faint chuckle escaped his lips, almost silent. Feyre kept her eyes facing Weaver.

They mainly discussed how to recover from abuse and how to adapt to new situations. Sometimes Weaver asked a question. No one was required to participate, and only a few people spoke. Some shared their stories. Feyre stayed silent. So did Rhys.

Feyre had tried to keep her gaze and thoughts steered clear of him after he caught her looking. She had mostly been able to keep her eyes looking ahead, but her thoughts strayed back to Rhys constantly. It was hard to concentrate when he was sitting right next to her. Dammit.

The session finally ended. Feyre stood and walked hurriedly to the exit, only pausing to thank Weaver again. She just made it onto the street, almost dark because of the setting sun, when she heard, “Darling, wait up.”

Feyre stopped. Shit. She had been rushing solely to avoid this. “Yes, Rhys?”

Rhys caught up with her and gave a weak smile. “I just wanted to clear the air.”

Feyre sighed. Spending the next gods-know-how-many days awkwardly smiling and avoiding each other probably wasn’t going to work. “Yeah, okay.”

“Well,” Rhys started, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know exactly what you went through, and I certainly won’t pressure you into talking about it. To be honest, I don’t really want to talk about what happened to me. I just... we don’t need to avoid each other; it doesn’t have to be awkward. And whatever you’re going through, I’m always here, Feyre.”

Feyre loosed a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and said, “Thank you, Rhys.”

All the words she didn’t say probably shone clearly enough in her eyes because Rhys just smiled and said, “Want me to walk you home?”

“No, thanks.”

“You might get lost. Have you ever traveled around here in the dark before?” Rhys’ worried tone was contradicted by his trademark smirk.

Feyre frowned. “Seeing as the subway station is right there,” Feyre pointed as she said this, “I think I’ll be okay.”

Rhys grinned. “Well, darling, I think I might come with you anyway. I do live nearby, which you might not have know. So I guess we can go together.”

“Why bother asking then?”

A soft chuckle emitted from Rhys, making Feyre frown. “I wanted to see what you would say.”

“Whatever. Let’s go, then.”

Rhys walked with her in silence to the subway and into the station. They boarded the train, mostly void of people. It was rather late.

Rhys looked over at Feyre. “So, was that your first time at a support group?” His tone was purely curious.

Feyre hesitated. “Yes. I don’t think I’ll go back again, though.” In answer to Rhys’ worried look, Feyre added, “Not because of you, of course. I just don’t think group stuff it my style. I’ll stick with one-on-one therapy.” This was all true. Feyre saw how it could be beneficial, but she wasn’t feeling comfortable enough to sit with other people, and to potentially share her thoughts, her feelings, or her past was just something she wasn’t ready for.

Rhys nodded solemnly. “I understand that.” He looked like he was about to say something more, but closed his mouth.

They stayed quiet as they excited the subway station and headed down the sidewalk. Rhys was always the one starting conversation, and now that he wasn’t, Feyre wasn’t really sure what to say. Not that she needed to; this was a conformtable silence.

The pair reached Feyre and Mor’s apartment. Feyre started to say goodnight what Rhys interrupted. “You think I’m not going to walk you to your door, darling? I am a gentleman.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Ridiculous man,” she muttered.

Rhys gave a grin at that and walked with Feyre, quite unnecessarily, up the stairs and to her door. “And now we part, darling.”

Feyre glanced sideways at him. “Thanks, Rhys,” she said softly.

Rhys replied, “Whatever for?”

“I don’t know. Just thank you.” With that, Feyre turned, unlocked her door, and stepped inside.

Mor glanced up from the couch where she was reading a novel. “Hey, Fey. What have you been doing? Off on a hot date you’ve neglected to tell me about?”

“Yes, Mor,” Feyre replied sarcastically as she dropped her purse on the counter and slid out of her shoes. “In a sweater and jeans.”

Mor snorted.

“Actually, I was at a support group. My therapist suggested it.”

Mor blinked. “Well that’s great! Did it help?”

Feyre sighed. “No, actually. Too shy. I’ll stay with my usual therapy. But I did see... never mind.” Feyre had been about to mention seeing Rhys, but if Mor didn’t know about that, she would be breaking Rhys’ trust. Feyre walked over and dropped next to Mor on the couch.

Mor gave a small smile. “You saw Rhys.”

“You did know, then. I didn’t want to out him.”

Mor hesitated. “So, um, how did that go? I mean, did you two talk to each other?”

A snort left Feyre’s mouth. “Yes, since he just had to sit next to me. And insisted upon walking me home. All the way up the stairs, of course.”

Mor snorted. “Why am I not surprised? So you two... it isn’t weird or anything?”

“No. It was at first, but he was... nice.”

A grin spread over Mor’s face. “Nice, eh? Do you, perhaps, like him?”

“I absolutely do not!”

Mor’s eyes widened. “Yes you do! You’re blushing!” Damn it.

Feyre scowled. “Am not. Leave me be.”

“Oh, come on. You two are perfect for each other. And you are so in love with him.”

“I’m going to sleep now. It’s been a long day.” Feyre stood and started walking to the hallway.

“Had any more dreams about my dear cousin?” Mor called after her.

Feyre though back to the second wet dream over a week ago that she hadn’t mentioned. Not trusting her ability to lie, Feyre kept walking, more quickly now.

“I knew it!” Mor screeched behind her.

Feyre closed herself in her room.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know The Weaver is supposed to be evil, but I kind of liked her in the books (don’t judge me) so she’s a therapist now.  
> Also, this chapter didn’t seem like my best work? Comments are appreciated.


	10. Chapter 10

**Day 27**

Feyre was in a mood.

Why was she in a mood? Because Rhysand freakin’ Night was at the door of her studio.

Feyre had been working on a painting when a knock sounded at the door. And perhaps she wasn’t angry at him personally. Perhaps it was his muscles she was mad at. And his tattoos.

That thought probably deserves an explanation. Feyre had been at the gym with Cassian on Monday, her third week. Yesterday.

Despite not having been training for very long, Feyre felt like she was improving. She knew how to defend herself a little better. She was a bit stronger, a bit faster. Cassian was impressed.

Just as Feyre had left the room she used with Cassian, having finished their session, she had glanced over to find Rhys working out across the gym. Without a shirt on.

Rhys in a shirt was already strong-looking. Without it, though, Feyre could see he was absolutely jacked. Heavy-set, toned abs. Gods, how often did he work out?

And the tattoos. They stretched across his torso and shoulders. Sweat was dripping across them, making the appearance even more attractive. Feyre felt heat begin to build in her core.

Needless to say, Feyre had run into a wall.

When she had spun back around, praying Cassian hadn’t seen that little mishap, she was greeted with a shit-eating grin and a raised eyebrow. “Um, bye,” Feyre muttered. Then she turned and speed-walked out of the gym.

And now it was a day later and Rhys was standing at her studio door.

“Why.”

Rhys grinned. “So we’ve gone back from neutral expressions to menacing scowls. And here I was thinking we were making progress.”

Feyre sighed. “Why are you here, Rhys? Again?”

A smirk. “I heard you saw me at the gym yesterday.”

Feyre froze. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Cassian would blab about the near-drooling she had been doing. “Thinking back on it, I suppose I might have noticed you.”

“I heard you ran into a wall.” Rhysand knew exactly what he was doing.

“I’m a clumsy person.” Not untrue.

Rhys smiled wickedly. “If you say so. Anyway, I just finished classes at the university and I was wondering if I could see some of your paintings.”

Feyre frowned. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Now, be civil, darling. I haven’t seen any finished works yet and I’m curious. Please?”

She hesitated. “Fine. You can look around. I’ll be finishing a painting in the back.”

Feyre turned and left him to his own devices. She finished her painting and put the paints and brushes away. Before she turned around again, she heard Rhys’ voice.

“They all look great, Feyre. I’m not just saying it, really, you are extremely talented.”

Feyre turned. “Thanks.”

Rhys smiled. “My favorite is the night sky one.”

Feyre blinked. “That’s my favorite too. I have a better one like it, though, on my bedroom wall.”

“Could I see it?” Rhys asked.

“Inviting yourself into my bedroom, Rhys? How very delicate.”

Rhys gave a smirk and said, “I find it’s better to be direct with the ladies.” This warranted an eyeroll from Feyre. “Seriously, though, it’d be nice to see the painting. And Mor should be off from her shift by now. Maybe the three of us could get something to eat?”

“Hmm.” Feyre glanced at the clock; sure enough, it was nearly dinner time. And if Mor would be there, this definitely didn’t count as a date. Nothing would be against the bet’s rules. “Fine. Just let me get my purse.”

Feyre headed to the back and was just about to grab her purse when she heard, “Feyre?”

“What, Rhys?” She turned.

“Don’t be alarmed, but it seems the door is sticking a little.”

Feyre walked out. “What does that mean?”

A reassuring smile. “It means we’re stuck for a little bit. Your door opens inward. So I can’t really pull hard enough to get it open. Someone’s just going to have to come and push it open. I’ll call Mor.”

Rhys turned away from her, not noticing the expression on her face, and dialed. He quickly explained the situation, but Feyre didn’t hear any of it. She had stopped listening when she heard the word “stuck.”

Rhys turned back around once he hung up and said, “Looks like it’s just the two of... darling, are you all right?” The smirk was wiped off of his face as soon as he noticed the alarm oozing out of Feyre.

Feyre struggled with a breath. “We’re trapped.”

Rhys took a tentative step toward her. “Only momentarily. Mor said she needed to finish looking at something. It should only be about fifteen minutes.”

“I can’t... I can’t... be trapped.” Feyre stumbled backward and hit the wall. She slumped into a sitting position against it, struggling to keep tears from sliding down her face. It was no use; her face was already wet.

Rhys hurried over and knelt beside her. “What do you need, Feyre?”

“My purse,” she got out. “Meds. In. My purse.” Feyre had seen a doctor yesterday, who agreed with Dr. Suriel’s assessment and produced her with prescription anxiety medication.

Rhys stood and rushed to get it. Feyre couldn’t see; she had lowered her face against her knees as her body shook. All her thoughts were returning to the room where she had been trapped. That was the thing about memories. They might last only seconds, but they can play over and over in your mind forever.

Rhys returned, brushing Feyre’s hair out of the way, and handing her the meds, already opened, and a water bottle he had produced from somewhere.

Feyre took them and swallowed with the water. Rhys then took everything back out of her hands and set them up on a table. “Feyre, do you want me to give you some space?”

“No!” she cried without even thinking.

“Alright.” Rhys placed a hand on Feyre’s back, not wanting to overstep, but she was having none of it. Feyre grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her. Rhys complied, circling her with his arms. She sniffled onto his shirt.

You would assume that someone suffering from fear of being enclosed wouldn’t want to be wrapped in a hug, but here, in Rhys’ arms... Feyre couldn’t think of anywhere she would rather be. His hands were gently rubbing circles on her backs, soothingly. Feyre’s breathing started to slow as the effect of both the medication and Rhys’ presence started to comfort her.

“He locked me in his room.” Rhys stilled. Feyre didn’t know why she was saying this, but she just wanted him to know. She continued, “When I finally got the courage to leave, he knocked me out and locked me in his room. And when I woke up, I ran to the door. I started banging on it and screaming. And I was only there for seconds before my friend kicked it open, but still... I thought that I was going to trapped in there forever.” Feyre shuddered.

Rhys whispered in her ear, “I stayed because I was scared. Scared of what she would do to my family if I tried to go. And every night she made me... _attend_ to her until she was satisfied.”

Feyre let out a sob. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m here now. And so are you. We’re free. We’re free.” Rhys kept whispering words into Feyre’s ear. It all blurred, but the sound of his voice was all that mattered, comforting her, bringing her out of the dark hole she had retreated into. Her face started to dry.

And then a knock sounded at the door. “Guys?”

Rhys called out, “Yeah. If you could just kick it in.” He stayed on the floor with Feyre, though, holding her tightly.

Mor kicked at the bottom of the door and it opened easily for her. “Hey, I - Fey, are you okay?” Mor hurried over and dropped the floor next to her.

Feyre gave a small smile. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think how this would... I’m so sorry Feyre. It’s my fault.” Mor looked horrified.

Feyre’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I said I had to finish something first. I should have come straight away.”

“No, Mor, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t know. Besides, five minutes wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Mor grinned. “At least you had Rhysie here to comfort you. You two look awfully comfortable.”

She was obviously trying to lighten the mood, though the guilty look remained in her eyes. Feyre just glowered.

Rhys just chuckled and said, “Want me to walk the two of you home?”

“I believe you already invited yourself over for dinner with us.”

Mor snorted. “Of course you did.”

Rhys gave a grin. “How else am I going to get to hang out with Feyre darling?” His tone changed as he turned to Feyre and said, “But you still want me to come?”

Feyre nodded quickly and Mor thankfully didn’t comment.

Mor started for the door. “Um, should we close it? What if it sticks again?”

Rhys looked toward Feyre again and said, “We should definitely close it during the nighttime. And in the morning you can kick it open if necessary. You won’t have to close it once you’re in, though. It’s supposed to be nice weather tomorrow. Then you can see about getting it fixed?”

Feyre nodded. “That sounds good.”

Rhys stood and extended a hand to Feyre. She grabbed it and let him help her up, but she didn’t let go once she was standing. Rhys being near to her was more consolation than she could ask for; she just couldn’t bring herself to let him go.

Rhys relaxed his hand, not realizing Feyre didn’t want to stop holding on, but when she didn’t loosen her grip, Rhys tightened his once more. He didn’t say anything about it.

They walked the few minutes to Mor and Feyre’s apartment, Feyre and Rhys still hand-in-hand. Mor was ahead of the two, and looked back a couple times at their joined hands, but only turned away with a smile.

Rhys and Feyre sat at the table. Mor had cooked some spaghetti just before she left, expecting Feyre home soon, and all she had to do was heat it up.

Feyre glanced over at Rhys, who was watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re still a prick.”

Rhys chuckled. “Certainly.”

Feyre smiled shyly and glanced down at the table.

Thankfully, Mor chose that moment to appear. “It’s ready. I’m not serving you; I do that all day at work. Get your asses up.” Mor then retreated back into the kitchen.

Both Feyre and Rhysand laughed as they stood.

-

The meal passed quietly. Everyone was at a loss of words. All three of them tried at small talk but no one was really successful. Feyre tried not to, but she started to feel embarrassed for causing this whole mess.

Everyone finished. Mor picked up the plates and said she’d clean up with and exaggerated wink. Both of them rolled their eyes.

Rhys smiled. “I should probably go now.”

Feyre smiled back, or tried to anyway. “Yeah. I’ll walk you out.” There really was no point, but she didn’t want Mor to be able to hear their conversation. Whatever it would be.

The two of them stepped into the hallway and Feyre closed the door behind them. “Uh, I just wanted to apologize.”

Rhys blinked. “Whatever for, darling?”

“For, well, for making you deal with... this. Me.”

“Don’t ever apologize for not being fine. It is more than okay to be fine.” Rhys’ voice was full of intensity.

Feyre released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “Thanks. A lot. For saying that and for helping me and for holding my hand.” Feyre suddenly stepped forward and threw her arms around Rhys.

Rhys hugged her back, tightly. “Of course, darling.”

“You know, Rhys,” Feyre started. She didn’t even know what possessed her to speak, but she kept going. “You’ve been through some shit. That’s clear. And I didn’t understand how you could look so collected after it, all the time. And then I realized that you have a mask.” Rhys tensed, but Feyre couldn’t bring herself to stop. “A mask that you wear because you don’t want anyone to know how broken you are. And it rarely slips because your mask is so much better than mine. But you just told me that’s it okay not to be fine.” Feyre pulled back and looked into his eyes. “It’s okay not to be fine, Rhys.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

Then Feyre realized that she was severely overstepping her bounds. Her eyes widened as she stepped away from Rhys and blurted, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not my right-”

Rhys grabbed Feyre’s arms, pulling her back toward him. “No. Thank you.” She could tell from the seriousness of his gaze that he wasn’t just trying to make her feel better, that he really meant it.

Rhys’ face turned much less solemn as he let go off her and added, “That sounded quite a bit like Dr. Suriel, actually.”

Feyre grinned. A moment passed, and then, “Goodnight, Rhys.” She hesitated for a moment, then stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss against his cheek. Bet be damned.

Then Feyre turned and re-entered the apartment. Mor was seated on the couch. “You certainly took quite a while to say goodbye,” she said in her most innocent voice. Feyre rolled her eyes. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the handholding.”

Feyre winced at that. She sat down on the couch next to Mor. “About the bet... I think I broke it.”

Mor smiled kindly. “In all seriousness, you’re allowed to be comforted. The bet didn’t say anything about that. And you clearly needed Rhys right then. So just because you wanted someone to hold you doesn’t mean you broke it, Fey.”

“I hugged him just now,” Feyre began.

“You’ve had a very bad day. A hug meant to make you feel better isn’t romantic or sexual or whatever.”

Feyre sighed. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I also may have... kissed him.”

Mor’s eyes widened. “You-”

“On the cheek!” Feyre elaborated.

“Oh. Well, some friends do that. Hell, I gave Cassian a big smooch when he bought me a, well, I think _that_ is a story for another day.”

“Mor, thank you, but I think we both know that wasn’t a friend thing. And I don’t want to get out of losing because I’ve had a bad day. That’s not fair.” Feyre smiled sadly.

“Now listen here, Feyre Archeron.” Mor was not backing down. “That may be sort of, technically against the rules, but you had a shitting panic attack and you know what else? I can’t rub it in if you lose now. ‘Oh, Feyre, you lost the bet because you experienced trauma and slipped up a little?’ That’s just cruel! I’m giving you an out to just screw the bet for tonight and you’re not allowed to not take it. That’s final.”

Feyre snorted. “Of course not being able to lord it over me is the reason. Fine, Mor. Thank you. But you’re going to be angry when I win because you didn’t claim foul when you could.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not even going to argue anymore. Because you know what? I got you to admit your feelings for Rhys today. I’m counting that as a victory.” Mor had a smug look on her face.

Feyre frowned. “I’m sorry, what? When did I confess these nonexistent feelings to you?”

“You said, if I recall correctly, ‘I think we both know that wasn’t a friend thing.’”

Feyre blinked. “I didn’t say that.”

Mor grinned. “Yes, you did. You _like_ him.”

“I did not. And I do not. I’m going to sleep now.”

A snort came out of Mor. “Again? You’re running away? From your _feelings_?”

Feyre just stood and walked away.

“It’s only seven-thirty,” Mor called after her.

She flipped her off over her shoulder in response.

It was only much later, lying in bed, that Feyre realized she’d forgotten to show Rhys her painting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want to take bets on how long you think Feyre will last (or if she’ll win the bet)? ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It starts out a little boring, I think, but stick with me... it gets very interesting.  
> Also, not really sure how galleries work and I’m too lazy to research anything, so... have fun.

**Day 37 (Part One)**

“Five more minutes!”

Feyre squealed at Mor’s reminder. Mor squealed as well. “Oh, gods, I’m so excited! I’ve wanted this forever.”

Mor grinned. “I’m so proud of you.” Feyre was having several of her works displayed in the opening of a gallery. It was Friday, and at therapy earlier in the day, Dr. Suriel had agreed that this was a good boost of confidence for Feyre. Mor wrapped Feyre in a hug.

“Careful, you’ll mess up my hair,” Feyre warned, chuckling.

“Why are you ladies making such a racket?” called a voice from the kitchen. Cassian.

Mor scowled. “Let us have our moment, Cass. And stop drinking all of our beer! You three came to pick us up, not drink all our alcohol.”

Feyre heard the fridge door close and she snorted.

Mor left to deal with Cassian, leaving Feyre’s bedroom. And Feyre was left standing alone, filled for the first time in a long time with confidence, when she heard another voice from over her shoulder.

“Congratulations. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that before.”

She turned back toward her bedroom door. “Thank you, Rhys.”

Feyre tried not to ogle him, but it was hard. Rhys in a suit was quite a sight. When the three men turned up in suits, Feyre had reminded them it was a small gallery opening, and that meant more casual. Mor had intervened, claiming that no one wanted to go on a date with them, so they had to seize the chance to dress up. Mor was wearing a dress, never missing out on a chance to show off her assets. Feyre herself was dressed much more casually in a long black skirt and a nice blouse. Amren, though probably only due to coercion on Mor’s part, was going to meet the group at the gallery where several of Feyre’s pieces were being displayed. She would probably turn up in sweatpants.

Rhys grinned. “No snarky comment?”

“Shut up,” muttered Feyre.

He was probably about to make some witty remark when something caught his eye. “That’s the painting you were speaking of? It’s...” Rhys speech trailed off as he studied it, making Feyre worry he didn’t like it. But his voice was full of genuine wonder when he said, “Gods, Feyre, I love it.”

Feyre followed his gaze to her personal favorite painting, the night sky, hanging on her wall. She had told Rhys he could see it, but after the panic attack they had forgotten and Rhys hadn’t been over since.

“Thank you.” Feyre tried to keep her tone neutral, not wanting to show too much appreciation. She was, after all, involved in a bet. No point in being too nice and then having to wait over sixty days before she could... _Where are these thoughts coming from? I don’t like Rhys like that. Or at all. The one hundred days will pass and I will still do nothing._

Finally, Rhys’ eyes moved from the painting and back to Feyre. “I’m not surprised you managed to get in a gallery already, even without any connections. Your style is breathtaking.”

“Enough buttering me up.” Feyre tried to keep her tone snappy, but it came out more playful than anything.

Rhys laughed softly.

“Why haven’t you called me?” Feyre asked.

“What?” Rhys looked amused.

“My, like, second day here, Mor came home and said you asked for my number and she gave it to you.”

Rhys grinned. “Of course she told you that. I didn’t ask for anything. Mor gave me your number, insisting that I needed to have it in case of emergencies. She also insisted I try it to make sure it worked.”

Feyre frowned. “The nosy bitch. But you didn’t.”

“I don’t rely on cheating to win a woman.” Rhys was smirking.

Feyre gave a scowl. “Well you won’t be _winning_ me anytime soon. And really - no cheating? Like asking for the address to my studio and stopping by?”

Rhys chuckled. “The difference is that I had to ask for it. Of course, if you want me to call, I’ll be only too happy to oblige.”

Feyre gave a glare. “I was _wondering_ , Rhysand.” She enunciated the word. “If you call me I’m going to block you.”

Rhys gave a chuckle and said, “If you say so. I believe it’s time to go now.” Feyre was grateful for the subject change. She hadn’t meant to ask about him calling her. Damn her lack of a filter.

He held out his arm for Feyre to place her hand on. _He may consider himself a gentleman, but must he act like it’s the eighteenth century?_

Feyre ignored the extended arm with an eyeroll and marched past him and down the hallway, leaving Rhys to follow.

-

Bryaxis looked intimidating. He was covered in skull tattoos. His muscles were the size of barrels. The way he crossed his arms hinted at menace. There a nose piercing. He had the most frightening voice imaginable, a deep, gravely sound straight out of the horror movies.

Bryaxis was the perfect example of why not to judge somebody on appearances. Because he was one of the sweetest, most kind-hearted people Feyre had ever encountered.

Feyre had met Bryaxis not long ago, when she was showing her best pieces to galleries in the hope that someone would appreciate her work. Bryaxis, in all honesty, had scared Feyre a little when she first entered his gallery. But he had seemed to take to her, and Feyre was getting past the gruff exterior with ease.

Cassian had frowned a bit when he heard Feyre wasn’t just showing her paintings at the man’s gallery, but was also quickly becoming his friend. When she asked him about it, he changed the subject. When Feyre questioned the others, she found out that Cassian and Bryaxis had gotten into a drunken fistfight, many years ago, apparently over a misunderstanding. Needless to say, _that_ had not gone in Cassian’s favor. Ever since, he remained scared shitless of Bryaxis.

He had offered her a place in the opening, because he just liked her work that much, or out of pity for the desperate young artist in front of him, or perhaps both, Feyre didn’t know.

But here she was, being greeted by the kind man as she and the others entered the gallery. Feyre gave him a hug, which Bryaxis gladly returned. He and Cassian exchanged terse nods which made Mor snort. Amren sauntered over from where she had been studying a painting of a stormy landscape. It was someone else’s work.

Mor went off to flirt with a raven-haired woman in the corner while Feyre peered around. Looking at the turnout, Feyre was pleasantly surprised. It was a rather small gallery, but it was packed with people admiring works. Some were over by Feyre’s paintings, and from the smiles on their faces, she could tell they were pleased.

Time passed. Feyre walked around. She had been smiling so widely and for so long, her face was starting to hurt.

And then she remembered a promise that had been made and her smile faded. One day, sitting on a picnic blanket in the shade, on one of the earlier days when Tamlin was off on a business trip...

_“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Fey. You’re so young, only out of university.”_

_“I know, Lu, but I still get frustrated. I just want my art to_ go _somewhere, you know?”_

_Lucien smiled. “Trust me, it will.”_

_“Don’t promise that. No offense, but you know nothing about art.”_

_Lucien gave a grin. “I’ve seen your stuff. And I’ve listened to you rant about... arty stuff. That basically makes me an expert on the subject.”_

_Feyre snorted. “Yeah, okay.”_

_“I’m serious, though. I_ do _promise that you are going to get your shit in a gallery, and I also promise that I will be there when it happens.”_

_A sniffle made its way out of Feyre. “Stop that, you’re making me emotional.”_

_Lucien just chuckled and wrapped her in a hug. “Too bad. Because I promise...”_

Feyre was instantly drained of her good mood. She’d tried not to think of Lucien lately. If things went well for him and Tamlin was found guilty of the corruption Lucien planned to expose, that would certainly make the news. Then Feyre would call Lucien and they would be together again and everything would be okay. If that didn’t happen, there was nothing she could do about it. So she tried to avoid thinking of Lu unnecessarily when all it would accomplish was worrying herself.

But now, remembering the way they had planned Feyre’s success together, she felt herself start to slip back down the hole she had been trying to climb out of.

“Are you all right?” a voice asked, pulling Feyre out of her thoughts. Azriel. Damn him for being so observant.

Feyre tried for a smile. “Yeah, just thinking about something.”

Azriel smiled sympatheticly. He seemed to know not to push the subject. “Your artwork looks amazing.”

“Thanks.” Feyre truly was appreciative. How had she managed so long without all these nice people?

The evening continued with admiration and complements, and Feyre tried to be gracious and keep her mind away from sadder things. It was a struggle.

The crowd was slowly dwindling as people went home. Feyre, Mor, Cassian, Azriel, and Amren were all gathered by a corner, nearing the end of the night.

And then Rhys walked over to them with a peculiar expression on his face. “Does anyone know why Tamlin Spring in standing outside?”

Feyre froze.

Mor looked over at Feyre alarm, then turned to Rhys. “How do you know who Tamlin Spring is?”

Rhys blinked. “I suppose I haven’t mentioned him by name before. You know him?”

Cassian looked extremely confused. He probably hadn’t heard anything about Tamlin from anyone. Before he could ask something, though, Amren silenced him with a look.

Mor looked at Feyre once more, then back at Rhys. “Uh... is there a back exit?”

Rhys frowned. “What do you know about him?”

“Um, I really can’t... we just need to get out, okay? I’ll explain later. Feyre, come on.”

But Feyre couldn’t move. She was staring toward the door, even though she couldn’t see anyone from here. Her hands had started to shake. Her breathing had quickened. Feyre could barely even hear what anyone was saying. The only thought pounding through her head was, _He’s here. He’s here. He’s here._

“Feyre?” Mor looked almost as panicky as she did. “Feyre, come on. We need to go.”

“I can’t...” The whisper that had come out of Feyre’s mouth trailed off.

“What is happening?” Cassian finally spoke.

Mor scowled. “None of your business. Feyre, we’re leaving now.” She grabbed Feyre by the arm and dragged her along to the back, searching for an exit. Feyre barely managed to stumble along behind her.

The rest of the group followed, looking concerned.

Rhys stepped in front of the pair. “How do you know Tamlin.” It wasn’t a question anymore.

Mor looked angry. Maybe at Rhys, for getting in her way. Maybe at Tamlin, who she had wanted to beat the shit out of the second Feyre told her about him. “It does not matter. Right now, we need to get Feyre out.”

Everyone looked at Feyre, who was about burst into tears. “I’m so stupid. I put my name in the gallery.”

Mor tightened her grip. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t think either. Let’s just get out, Feyre.”

Feyre turned her head to Mor, albeit slowly. Her voice stopped working so she gave a small nod, the best she could manage.

Rhys looked conflicted. Like he didn’t know whether to keep interrogating them, or help them escape, or wrap Feyre in hug, or go and knock Tamlin’s teeth down his throat.

Amren took control of the situation. “You all get out. Cassian and I are going to go distract him.” No one questioned how she was going to do that. Maybe breathe fire in his face or something. Cassian followed her, throwing one last concerned look in Feyre’s direction.

Mor started dragging Feyre again, who was extremely ashamed to admit she still couldn’t walk on her own. Rhys grabbed the hand of her other arm, and Feyre squeezed tightly.

Azriel came out of a back room Feyre hadn’t seen him go into. “There aren’t any actual exits, but there’s a window in here.”

All four of them went into the room, Feyre glancing once more toward the entrance where Tamlin was waiting on the other side. For her. She shuddered.

Rhys glanced at Feyre out of the corner of his eyes, but he only tightened his grip on her hand.

They made it to the window, which Azriel opened and climbed out of. Thank the gods they were on the first floor. Mor ushered Feyre out next, Azriel steadying her on the other side. Mor, and then Rhys, climbed out too, the whole group now on the dark street. It was very late, more so than Feyre had realized.

A whole gallery was between Feyre and Tamlin now. Azriel and Rhys went forward a few paces, leaving Feyre exposed, too much space in between them and Mor. But none of them realized it. And when Mor shut the window behind them, Feyre was flooded with relief.

Until a large hand wrapped around her arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be at least one more part to day 37.  
> Also, I just started posting on Tumblr, [so come and say hi!](https://bookwormq702.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter 12

**Day 37 (Part Two)**

Tamlin. Tamlin had grabbed her. Oh gods. Oh gods.

Feyre’s head snapped to his face. She opened her mouth, but no sound would come out. No words. No scream. Her vocal cords turned to cement.

She hadn’t seen Tamlin in about two and a half months, but it had felt like a lifetime. And he didn’t look at all the same as he had. There was a maniacal, crazed look in his eyes. Lucien wasn’t anywhere in sight, a fact that Feyre tried to ignore.

In the movies, the main character always lets out a piercing scream. But this wasn’t the movies. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t move anything other than her mouth. Not that that helped, seeing as her vocal cords were not cooperating. Terror had frozen her solid.

Tamlin started to pull Feyre down the alley he had appeared from. She finally mustered enough of her speech to yell, “Let go of me!” Or try to yell, anyway. Her voice came out loudly enough, but raspy and weak.

Everyone’s heads snapped to Feyre and Tamlin, who was trying to pull Feyre farther down the alley. Azriel, Rhys, and Mor all lunged forward. They were all probably scared of coming too close; what if Tamlin was totally insane and tried to hurt her?

“Tamlin, leave her be,” Mor commanded, her tone making it as if she was talking to a child. Or a madman.

Tamlin scowled while Feyre silently shook in his hold. “I don’t know who you are, but you have no business here. This is between me and my fiancée.”

Feyre let out a strangled sob. Her face felt wet; she had probably been crying for a while now.

Rhys took another step forward. “I’m going to kill you.” His voice was deadly calm. And entirely serious.

Tamlin’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing with her, Night? She’s not yours.”

“I agree.” Rhys’ face was a mask of lethal fury. “Nor is she yours. She’s a person, not a dog.”

Feyre was a bit unnerved by the look on Rhys’ face. Azriel and Mor both looked ready to knock Tamlin’s teeth down his throat, but neither had the same, pure menace written all over Rhys.

She finally got enough of her wits about her enough to slam her heel down on Tamlin’s foot while twisting her arm out of his grasp. It was a basic move that Cassian had taught her last week. Tamlin released Feyre with a howl, and she bolted behind her three friends.

Azriel wrapped a tentative arm around Feyre, content to leave the confrontation between the others. He tried not to hold her too tightly, not wanting to frighten her, but hoping to comfort her. Feyre leaned into his touch.

Tamlin looked like he was about to lunge for her, not that anyone was going to let him do that, but before he could say or do anything, Rhys stepped forward. And threw a punch.

Feyre had seen him working out in the gym. But even that view had not prepared her for the force of the blow. But Tamlin didn’t back down. He just threw a punch of his own.

Tamlin worked out too (though probably not as much), but while he was good at hitting things, he was not so great at things involving skill. Rhys easily sidestepped the punch and hit him again.

And again.

And again.

Feyre had frozen. Azriel was tense around her. Mor looked uncertain as to whether she should encourage the fistfight or tell Rhys he was going too far.

“Alright, Rhys. That’s enough. Rhys.” Mor grabbed Rhys by the arm, but he just shrugged her off her and punched Tamlin again. A strike to the stomach had him falling to his knees.

“Stop it!” Feyre screamed. She was all for justice, but this was too much. This was scaring her. “Stop it, Rhys!”

He didn’t even look at her. Tamlin was on the ground now, moaning pain. Rhys wasn’t letting up. It was absolutely brutal.

Tamlin deserved everything that was coming to him, but Feyre just couldn’t watch this. Rhys was scaring her.

Feyre kept crying out his name and begging him to stop punching while Mor grabbed Rhys again and tried to pull him back, more forcefully this time. Azriel abandoned his place by Feyre’s side to help. Finally, the two of them dragged Rhys away while he struggled.

“Rhys, stop,” Feyre pleaded. She couldn’t stand the look in his eyes, the promise of murder. “Please.”

It was the please that finally registered with him. Rhys turned his head to meet Feyre’s gaze. His eyes were full of so many emotions: anger, confusion, guilt. He stopped struggling.

Tamlin groaned before anyone could speak. Everyone looked in his direction. He slowly got to his feet, wheezing with effort. “This is not over. You are mine, Feyre. You know my number; just call me when you come to your senses, when you realize how good to you I’ve been.”

Feyre let out a strangled laugh.

Tamlin’s eyes narrowed. “I mean it. You’ll come back to me.” With that he pulled something out of his pocket: a ring. Her ring. Tamlin tossed it at their group’s feet.

No one dared breathe as he turned and staggered away, throwing one last hateful glance over his shoulder as he left.

Mor let out a heavy breath. “Shit.”

Feyre was trembling. “Oh gods.”

“It’s alright, honey.” Mor wrapped her in a hug.

Rhys was standing near the pair, but he looked too guilt-ridden to come closer. Feyre was glad; she wasn’t really sure what to feel about what he’d done.

Azriel cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, but perhaps we should leave in case he comes back. And to figure out what happened to Amren and Cassian.”

Mor said, “Yeah, that’s probably the best thing to do.” She turned to Feyre. “What do you want to do with the ring, Feyre? Toss it down in the sewer?”

“No!” Feyre blurted quickly, fearful Mor was about to do just that. “Gods, that thing is six carats. I’m paying off my rent.”

A snort mixed with a gasp exited Mor’s mouth. “Six carats? Fuck. Maybe you can pay off my rent too.”

Feyre was feeling frightened still, but the humor was lightening her mood. She bent down and picked up that damned, big-ass diamond, then hesitated. She sure as hell wasn’t putting it on her finger. “I don’t have any pockets.”

Mor eagerly grabbed the ring from Feyre and slid it onto her fourth finger. At everyone’s raised eyebrows, Mor said, “What? Transportation purposes.”

Feyre let out a incredulous laugh. “Gods, Mor. Okay, let’s go.”

At that moment, Amren appeared around the corner, Cassian behind her. She sped-walked toward them so quickly that, despite her short legs, Cassian struggled to keep up.

Amren came to a halt right in front of the group and took in the diamond ring on Mor’s finger, glinting even in the darkness, Feyre’s tear-stained face, and the blood dripping off Rhys’ fist, looking as dark as ink despite the nearby streetlight. “What happened.”

Rhys spoke up. “What happened to you? I thought you were going to distract him.” His tone was hard and accusatory.

“Stop, Rhys, it wasn’t their fault.” Feyre was speaking now, bothered by the edge in his voice.

“We looked for him, but he wasn’t there. Never even saw his face. We finally decided to try the other side of the building.” Amren looked annoyed, unused to not getting her way. “Again, what happened.” Her tone was just as severe and matter-of-fact as the rest of her speech, and her question remained an order.

Azriel stepped forward. “He found us. You’ll get the details once we’re somewhere safe.” Azriel’s still-quiet voice was laced with command. This was the CIA agent side of him showing.

Mor grabbed Feyre’s hand. “Agreed. Um, is it safe to go to our apartment?”

Azriel hesitated. “I don’t see how he could access information like that, but perhaps you should come to our place tonight, just in case.”

Our place. Who lived together? Feyre was too shell-shocked to voice her question. She let Mor pull her down the sidewalk, seeming to know where she was going. Everyone else followed.

Cassian hadn’t said a word yet, looking confused as shit. He was probably the only one who didn’t know anything about this situation. Cassian caught up to Mor and Feyre and said in a low voice, “Are you okay, Feyre?”

Feyre smiled tentatively. “Yes, thank you for asking.”

Her answer didn’t seem to satisfy Cassian, who was frowning. He didn’t press the issue, however, content to wait until everyone was inside. He did grab Feyre’s other hand, which she squeezed gratefully. Now she had a friend on either side; Feyre was gradually losing her anxiety. A good thing, too; Feyre hadn’t brought her purse - no meds.

The walk was short, but it still gave Feyre enough time to worry. Tamlin was in New York. It was only a matter of time before he located the apartment she shared with Mor. If he hadn’t already.

And Lu. Lucien went everywhere with Tamlin. The spur-of-the-moment decision he made to stay had been severely flawed. What if Tamlin noticed, even in his rage all the holes in his story? Like how the door to Feyre’s room was kicked in, not out. Or how, in such a weak state, Feyre never would have been able to knock out Lucien. Or perhaps Tamlin was just angry for letting her get away; that was totally plausible. So was that why Lucien didn’t come? Because he’d been injured? Or killed?

The group finally reached a moderate-sized, nice-looking townhouse. Feyre tried to control herself as they walked to the front door. Enough worrying herself over Lucien. He would be okay. He had to be.

She had trouble discerning her surroundings in the dark, but it seemed close to her own place. The group entered and Feyre was met with a warm, cozy living room. Cassian released Feyre’s hand and took a seat on the couch, while Azriel slumped into a chair.

Mor pulled Feyre up some stairs and into a bathroom before she could turn and look at Rhys or Amren. Looking in the mirror, Feyre let out an “Oh my-” when she saw herself.

Mor chuckled. “You forgot you were wearing mascara, didn’t you?”

Feyre nodded sullenly, taking in her frightening appearance. Not only was her face pale and her eyes red, but her cheeks were stained with mascara running down in vertical streaks from the tears. “I look like I belong in a horror movie.”

Another snort left Mor, who grabbed a tissue, wet it from the sink, and started wiping Feyre’s face.

“Thanks, Mor.”

“Of course, Fey. How are you feeling?”

Feyre sighed. “Fine. I’m just so sorry I dragged all of you guys into this mess.”

“Do not be sorry.” Mor’s tone was kind, but stern. “You did absolutely nothing wrong. I’m sure no one here faults you for this. It’s that jackass’ fault.”

“Yeah.” Feyre and Mor drifted into silence for a moment. Mor finished wiping Feyre’s face of ruined makeup and started straightening her hair.

“Who’s house is this?”

Mor smiled. “Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian’s.”

She finished fixing Feyre’s appearance, though the red eyes weren’t going away anytime soon. Feyre said, “I guess we need to go downstairs now.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Mor said sympathetically.

“That’s alright. I think we should.”

The pair took the stairs back down and sat next to Cassian on the couch. Rhys was in a chair and Amren was attending to his fist, which was covered in blood. Feyre couldn’t tell if it was bleeding, or if all of the blood was Tamlin’s.

Rhys hissed as Amren cleaned it, and she just scolded, “Stop wincing. You brought this upon yourself.”

Cassian looked around the room from them, to Azriel, and to Mor and Feyre next to him. “Um, is anyone going to tell me what the hell just happened?”

Mor scowled. “Rhysand, how do you know Tamlin?” Feyre could tell from her tone and the use of his full name, Rhys was in trouble.

Rhys glanced briefly at Feyre, then back to Mor. “He was working with Hybern. With _her_.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the ACoMaF reference!

**Day 37 (Part Three)**

“He was working with Hybern. With her.”

The “her” seemed to mean something to everyone else, but not Feyre. She didn’t get why everyone else winced, even Amren. “Who is she?”

Rhys looked at Feyre. “Just someone from my past.” She could see the pain in his eyes... and then it clicked. What was it Rhys had said in her studio over a week ago when she had a panic attack?

_I stayed because I was scared. Scared of what she would do to my family if I tried to go. And every night she made me..._ attend _to her until she was satisfied._

Feyre’s eyes widened. Was it possible this horrid woman was the “she” that everyone seemed to know about? Feyre could tell from the look in Rhys’ eyes that he knew exactly what she was remembering. And the subtle nod he gave her confirmed it.

Tamlin had been involved somehow with a woman who basically raped Rhys. Honestly, she wasn’t too surprised. Tamlin never had been a good person. Perhaps that’s where he went on all those business trips. Feyre decided not to press the issue.

Cassian, hardly less confused and the only one who didn’t notice the silent conversation between Feyre and Rhys, asked, “And how does Feyre know this douche?”

Mor looked annoyed. “Really, Cassian? Could you be any more insensitive?”

“It’s alright, Mor,” Feyre intervened. She turned to Cassian, who deserved an explanation. “Tamlin was my fiancé.”

Silence met Feyre declaration. Mor already knew and Rhys had surely figured it out. Amren remained unfazed; who knew what was going on in that woman’s head? Azriel had certainly heard Tamlin call Feyre his fiancée, so he didn’t look too shocked. Only Cassian’s eyes widened. Feyre could almost see the gears turning in the poor man’s head. “Oh,” was what he settled for.

Feyre snorted.

Then Cassian glanced at Mor’s ring finger, still occupied by the diamond. “Um...”

Mor just grinned. “I’m wearing it for safekeeping, Cass. Wouldn’t want to lose it before we can sell it.”

A matching grin spread across Feyre’s face. “We?”

Mor blinked. “I meant you, of course.”

Feyre giggled.

Amren finally joined the conversation. “I can help with that. Probably get Feyre a good price.” Despite the kind (and unexpected) offer, making Feyre remember she was a jeweler, Amren’s tone was as bored and disinterested as ever.

“Thank you, Amren,” Feyre said.

The short woman just waved her hand in a meh gesture and said, “I’m leaving now. No point sticking around with you lot. Want me to take the ring?”

Feyre answered, “Yes, please,” making Mor frown.

“It was fun while it lasted. I’ll have to go buy myself an engagement ring.” Mor obediently gave the ring to Amren while Feyre rolled her eyes at the idea of Mor proposing to herself.

Azriel, who had been silently observing throughout the whole process, said “Feyre, if I could speak to you for a minute?”

When Feyre nodded, Azriel stood and walked out of the room. She followed. They walked into a kitchen, small but with nice appliances.

“I’m so sorry that happened, Feyre.”

Feyre smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I have a lot of connections.” Azriel did work in the CIA, after all; this was no surprise. “If you wanted me to look into Tamlin, I could do that.”

Feyre blinked. “What exactly would you be looking for?”

“Crimes, unusual activity, updates on his behavior, anything really.”

“Um, that sounds great, but is it legal?” Feyre winced as soon as she spoke.

Azriel didn’t seem offended at all, just slightly amused. “Not at all. And, of course, if it makes you uncomfortable, I certainly won’t do anything.”

Feyre sucked in a breath. “I’d like that. Thank you so much, Azriel. And... my best friend, Lucien Vanserra, didn’t leave with me because he wanted to expose Tamlin. He thought there was illegal activity in the company. So he pretended he hadn’t let me out, that I’d escaped. And he usually goes everywhere with Tamlin, and if he had been there, he definitely wouldn’t have let Tamlin do anything like that. But he wasn’t. And I’m worried.”

Azriel listened to this whole garbled speech expressionless, though his eyes tightened a bit when Feyre mentioned escaping. She remembered the scarred hands that she had noticed when they ate at the cafe. What had happened to him?

“I’ll check up on him. And try to see about this illegal activity he suspects.”

Feyre grinned. “Thank you so much, Azriel.” She threw her arms around him.

Azriel stiffened a little, but then he hugged Feyre back. After a moment, the two separated. Azriel gave Feyre a concerned once-over and said, “You look tired. Rest, Feyre.”

Feyre smiled gratefully at the observant man. “I’ll try. Thanks again.”

There was nothing else to say between Feyre, shocked into silence by seeing Tamlin, and Azriel, always quiet. They exchanged comfortable smiles once more and Azriel left the kitchen.

Feyre turned and braced her hands on the counter, staring at the window above the sink, but not actually seeing, lost in her thoughts.

“Hey.”

Rhys’ voice. Feyre stopped breathing for a second, then without turning around, said, “Hey.”

She could hear Rhys take another step behind her, then realized she could see him in the window’s reflection. Rhys’ eyes met her in the glass.

“I’m so sorry, Feyre. I never should have attacked him like that. That was not my right.” His words were clearly a struggle, his voice full of regret.

“Okay.” That was all Feyre could manage, still uncertain of how to feel.

Rhys kept staring into her eyes in the window’s reflection. “No. Not okay. I shouldn’t have... I just... when we were in the gallery, you looked terrified. And I remembered what you said in your studio, about how he trapped you. I started to suspect. But when Tamlin grabbed you, I knew. I knew that he was the one that hurt you. He’s the reason you go to therapy and support groups and have panic attacks and look so depressed all the time. He’s the reason all the light has left you. Maybe I’ve never seen you before you met him, but I see you, Feyre. I can tell you used to be happier. And I just wanted to make him pay. I know that’s not an excuse. I was just so angry.”

Feyre swallowed. She was still looking into the glass, her back to Rhys. She didn’t know if she could bring herself to turn around. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not.” Rhys took another step toward her, then stopped. His voice quieted. “You were yelling at me to stop. And it didn’t matter what he’d done. Nothing mattered except for you telling me to stop. And I didn’t.”

“It is alright.” Feyre meant it. “He deserved it. And maybe you shouldn’t have done that anyway. Honestly, it scared me. _You_ scared me. And I just don’t want to deal with violence anymore.”

Rhys winced, but before he could say anything, Feyre continued, “Please promise to never to do that again.”

“Of course I promise. I’m so sorry, Feyre. I will never act like that again. But that doesn’t warrant your forgiveness. I don’t deserve that.”

“Don’t tell me what you don’t deserve. I forgive you, because if I came across the woman that hurt _you_ , I would have done the exact same thing.”

She hadn’t even admitted that to herself.

His eyes flicked. “I know.”

“She really... works with Tamlin? And what’s Hybern?”

Rhys didn’t avert his gaze, but he looked like he wanted to. He looked pained. “Yes. And Hybern is a company that she works for. Amarantha. It’s only fair you know her name. And the rest of it - you’re caught up in all of this now, after all.

“She holds a lot of power, but she isn’t at the top. That’s the CEO. They call him the king. I’m not sure what his real name is.

“My family owns a business called Velaris. It’s been passed down through the generations. I never took to it, ended up hiring a few people I trusted to look after it. Business isn’t really my thing.

“Amarantha wanted control of Velaris, so with the king’s permission, she arranged a meeting with me. Velaris belongs to my family. I only agreed to go as a courtesy; I never had any intention of selling. She threatened my family. Mor, Cassian, Azriel, and Amren. She said she’d kill them. There was one other option, aside from letting them die or selling my family legacy.” Rhys’ eyes shuttered. Feyre sucked in a breath.

“I texted Mor, telling her I wasn’t coming back for a while. None of them knew anything about this. They thought I was just going to a business meeting. So did I, for that matter. So I told Mor not to worry, I just needed some time. And then I became her whore.”

Feyre was shaking. “How long?”

“Two years.”

Rhys was older than Feyre, perhaps 27. She was only 24. But to spend two years of his life like that... even if it had happened recently, he still must have been so young when it started.

Feyre could make out a tear sliding down his cheek in his reflection. Her own eyes were watering. “How did it stop?”

“She got called back to Hybern’s headquarters. Damage control. Apparently Tamlin started dating someone and she needed to let me go to deal with it.”

Feyre gasped. “Me?”

“Yes. She was supposed to go get him in order. Hybern had wanted Tamlin to marry Amarantha to solidify ties between the two companies. Tamlin didn’t want to, though. He wanted to marry you.”

Feyre’s brain was struggling to catch up. “But. I didn’t. Tamlin was supposed to marry your... her? Why would he give up marrying some rich bitch for me? He didn’t even like anything about me!”

Rhys winced. “He never wanted Amarantha. No one did. And I heard Tamlin picked up some girl off the street to avoid her. I’m sorry.” His tone was genuinely regretful.

“Don’t be sorry, Rhys,” Feyre breathed. “I know he didn’t love me. And I’m glad to know why he wouldn’t let me leave. I always wondered, because I was poor and he spent virtually all of our time together trying to change everything about me. I know I shouldn’t, but I always wish he’d have chosen some other girl to terrorize.”

Rhys took a step closer. His third throughout the whole conversation. He had started at the doorway and now he was halfway across the room.

Their eyes had been locked in the glass for the entire time since Rhys had entered, and neither stopped looking now.

“I don’t think you shouldn’t. Anyone would wish it wasn’t them.” A pause. “As you’re probably aware, that was almost a year ago,” Rhys continued. “I was allowed to leave, so I went home. And the others were so angry. They had been worried sick the whole time, looking for me. And then I confessed everything, and they weren’t so angry at me anymore. I never mentioned Tamlin’s name, I can only assume, because Mor would have put it together, that you were...” Rhys trailed off. “I got a job as a flight instructor, like I’d always wanted, and gave complete control to the board I put in charge of Velaris. The months passed. And then Mor told us her friend Feyre was coming to New York to be an artist.”

Rhys took another step.

Feyre wasn’t breathing. She couldn’t wrap her mind around what Rhys had been through, and how the things that had happened to the both of them were connected. How Rhys might still be with that bitch if Feyre hadn’t met Tamlin.

Another step.

“Rhys,” Feyre rasped. “I-” Tears were sliding down her cheeks. Rhys was silently crying as well.

Rhys was right behind Feyre now, but he didn’t dare touch her. Not after what she’d dealt with. Rhys still didn’t know the details, but he knew she was messed up inside, and he would never touch her like that without permission, Feyre knew.

So Feyre stepped backward.

Her back lightly touched Rhys’ chest. They were still staring into each other’s eyes in the window’s glass. Not once breaking eye contact, Rhys leaned into Feyre.

Feyre leaned back as well, until they were pressed into each other. She tipped her head back onto Rhys’ shoulder, finally ending the staring contest. Feyre’s eyes closed as her head fell against him.

Rhys nuzzled her neck and Feyre let out a sigh. She reached back and grabbed his hands, sliding them onto her hips.

Rhys’ hands tightened, not straying from Feyre’s hips. His mouth was pressing against her neck now, lightly dragging his lips over skin.

Feyre’s breathing turned ragged. Mor may give her another pass for the bet, claiming the trauma of being attacked by some motherfucking wacko allowed for a slip. If she stopped now. But fuck the bet. Feyre didn’t want to stop.

Feyre’s breath hitched as Rhys removed one hand from her hip and used it to turn Feyre’s head toward his own. “Feyre.” She didn’t know what that was: a request? A plea? A prayer? Maybe he just liked the sound of her name on his lips. Feyre certainly did.

She turned in Rhys’ grasp, fully facing him now. His one hand remained on her hip, the other now delicately tracing her jawline.

Feyre lifted a hand and gently used her thumb to wipe away his tears. He did the same, caressing her cheeks.

Rhys leaned forward and placed his forehead against Feyre’s. His nose brushed her own. Feyre’s blood was boiling now, her heart racing.

All she wanted was to damn the consequences and press her lips against Rhys’ mouth. And then reality came crashing in.

Only an hour earlier she had faced Tamlin, her nightmares come to life. Only an hour earlier she had been terrified and helpless. And only minutes ago Rhys had shared his traumatic past with Feyre, showing her the broken part of himself. This was a horrible idea for so many reasons.

Feyre had no idea what was happening right now, the electric sparks running through the two of them. But she just couldn’t handle it. It was too soon after everything, too much.

Feyre stumbled backward out of Rhys’ grasp.

Rhys looked horrified. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“I can’t,” was all Feyre said before she bolted out of the room, ignoring Rhys calling after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe I had written a whole thing where Feyre kissed Rhys and they were making out but then I was like to hell with it, I want to make some people cry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this last night, but ACoSF finally came and I read the whole thing in one day. Whoops. Enjoy!

**Day 38**

Feyre didn’t sleep well.

She tossed and turned all night, half-awake and half-dreaming, imagining Rhys’ expression when she backed away. He had looked so guilty. And she hadn’t stayed to tell him it was her fault, that Feyre was the one who stepped backward and put his hands on her hips.

She’d just left him.

And ran up the stairs crying, not even sure where she was going. She had run right into Mor, nearly mowing her over.

Mor had taken in the tears and the swirl of emotions and had grabbed her arm and dragged her into a room without saying a word.

Later she would find out this was a guest room. The room that she was being given while she stayed in the men’s house. But then all she had know was that there was an empty bed that looked like a perfect place to cry on.

Feyre had stumbled onto it, curled into a ball, and sobbed. She vaguely heard Mor close the door, vaguely heard her walk to the bed and sit. She registered hands soothingly rubbing her back and holding her tightly.

And then Feyre had confessed everything. How Rhys had told her about Amarantha, how they had cried together and then had a moment, part lust and part understanding and part grief. And how Feyre had run away. And screwed everything up.

Mor just held her and told her it was going to be okay and Feyre didn’t even mind that she was acting like a child because she just felt so fucking bad.

Then Mor had tucked her in and held her some more, until Feyre drifted off. She didn’t stay asleep for long, hounded by pent-up terror from Tamlin grabbing her and pure shame for letting Rhys look so guilty and not doing anything to fix it. Shame for ruining their relationship, whatever it had been.

Now it was morning, and Feyre was still laying in bed, light streaming through a crack in the curtains, and wondering whether she should get up.

No, Feyre decided. She was just going to lay here forever. She wouldn’t have to see Rhys or anyone. She could wallow in self-pity and misery for the rest of her life.

Her new plan was ruined when a knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?” _Please don’t be Rhys, please don’t be Rhys._

“It’s Mor,” a voice called.

Feyre hesitated. “Come in.”

Mor opened the door and closed it again behind her. “How are you feeling?”

Feyre tried for a reassuring smile. “Fine. Just tired.”

Mor winced, not buying her story for a second. “It’s almost noon.”

“I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” Feyre hadn’t realized how late it was - not that it made much of a difference.

A sigh left Mor. “Azriel is off doing gods-know-what. Amren only came back briefly. And Cassian is sitting at the table eating breakfast and being clueless.”

Feyre snorted. “Okay. And, uh, Rhys?”

The humorous mood Mor had been trying to establish dissipated. “He’s taking a walk. A long one, he said. Um. He was trying to come in here earlier, but I told him it would be wiser to give you some space.”

“Shit. Gods, he thinks I hate him doesn’t he? Maybe he hates me too.” Feyre covered her face with her hands, still lying on her back under the covers.

Mor’s tone turned stern. “He does not hate you. Don’t ever let yourself believe that. And I told him I talked with you last night, and you didn’t blame him for anything.”

“Good. I don’t. I almost kissed him and then I ran off and it was all my fault.” Feyre took her hands off her face.

Mor was scowling. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this either. You had a very rough day. You’re allowed to be uncertain and you’re allowed to change your mind and shit. Or whatever it is you want. Hell, I’m not making some pretty speech for you; it’s too early for this.”

Feyre giggled despite feeling like shit. “You’re commenting on me not being up now but it’s too early for you?”

Mor sighed. “Listen. If you want to talk to Rhys and sort this out, he’ll listen. And he will never be angry with you or pressure you into anything. But if you aren’t ready to talk to him, he will keep his distance until you are.”

“I don’t... I want to avoid him because I’m a coward and I deal with my problems by pretending they don’t exist.” Feyre frowned. “But if I do that, he’ll keep feeling bad, and I don’t want that. So, later maybe, I’m going to talk to him.”

“Alright.” Mor seemed satisfied with this answer. “I mentioned that Amren stopped by. She gave me this.” Mor pulled something out of her back jeans pocket. A wad of cash.

“Holy hell,” Feyre breathed. “That’s...”

“A lot. Yeah.” Mor grinned. “That was one big-ass diamond, wasn’t it?”

Feyre reached out and grabbed the money. She didn’t even bother trying to count it.

“What are you going to do with it, Fey? Buy a mansion?”

“A mansion? I don’t think it’s quite _that_ much, Mor,” Feyre replied with a grin.

Mor sighed. “Yeah, put it into savings, pay your rent. Stop being so mature.”

Feyre sighed as well. “For starters, this is yours.” Feyre pulled five twenties from the stack and tried to hand them to Mor.

“I didn’t mean it when I said you could pay off my rent,” Mor teased.

“No, it’s for the bet. I lost, remember?”

Mor blinked. “Now, hold on.”

“Don’t even try to give me an out. I almost kissed him, Mor.”

“Almost. That’s the keyword.”

A frown appeared on Feyre’s face. “I appreciate it, really Mor, I do. But I thought you wanted to win.” She waved the money in front of Mor’s face.

Mor just swatted it away. “Not like this! You didn’t kiss him. You may have done a teensy bit of touching, but what the fuck am I supposed to do? Take a bunch of cash from you because you were, like, assaulted and shit?”

“No, because I lost, fair and square.”

“I won’t take it. You’re not even halfway there yet. I will have plenty of chances to make you pay up in the future.” Feyre snorted. “So you keep your damn cash and buy yourself something pretty. I’m going to win anyway.”

“Mor, I don’t want to win like this. It’s cheating.”

“Feyre Archeron, what did I just tell you? You aren’t winning! But now, you didn’t break any big rules, so you’re still in the game.”

“The bet says, if I recall correctly, I _must be in accordance with every single aforementioned rule_. Which includes the little ones.”

Mor looked angry. “Fuck the bet. My rules go. I won’t take your fucking money like this. I want to be able to tell everyone and brag about it and hold it against you for the rest of your life, so put it the fuck away.”

A snort left Feyre’s mouth. “Fine. Whatever.” She finally sat up, located her purse, and got out of bed to shove the cash inside. Thinking back on it, she didn’t remember holding her purse when she was trying to get out of the gallery, and she certainly hadn’t brought it in this room.

“I was carrying your purse when we left. And I put it in here last night,” Mor explained to Feyre’s unanswered question.

Feyre offered a grin. “Thanks, Mor. You’re the best.”

“I know.” Mor grinned back at her and Feyre just rolled her eyes.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay. You should come down for breakfast when you finish up. Or lunch, seeing as it’s so late.”

“I will,” Feyre agreed. With that, she left the room and used the bathroom. Once she finished washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror.

There were bags under Feyre’s eyes. Her lips were unconsciously tilted downward. She tried for a smile, but it came out as more of a wince.

Feyre just sighed, splashed some cold water on her face to wake herself up, and left the bathroom.

Cassian was sitting at the table, just as Mor had said. Mor herself was fixing a plate of bacon and eggs.

Cassian looked up, taking in Feyre’s haggard expression. He was a bit clueless, but certainly not stupid. The man knew Feyre wasn’t doing great. “How are you, Fey?”

Feyre smiled. “Fine.”

Not true, and from the look on Cassian’s face, he wasn’t buying it. Still, he just smiled back and said, “Good. Get some food, you look hungry.”

She _was_ hungry. Feyre turned to Mor, who was watching her. “Help yourself.” She passed Feyre a plate.

“Thank you.” Feyre scooped some eggs and bacon onto the plate just as Mor had done and seated herself. Mor was already sitting.

The silence was awkward, everyone struggling to come up with something appropriate to say.

“So...” Cassian finally started. “Hm. Any fun plans today?”

Mor snorted. “Nope.”

“No,” Feyre added.

“Cool,” Cassian replied.

They finished eating in silence.

-

Feyre was sitting in a chair in the small, homey living room, pretending to read a book, when Rhys walked through the door.

She’d finished eating only minutes ago, and sat down in an attempt to distract herself.

Rhys’ eyes shot straight to Feyre. She couldn’t have averted her gaze if she tried.

“I’m going to go... elsewhere,” Mor said, who had been flipping through a magazine.

She dragged Cassian out of the room with her. He barely even managed to get out a “What’s happen-” before they disappeared up the stairs. Neither Feyre nor Rhys was paying them any attention, though.

“Hi,” Feyre said. She hoped her voice wasn’t shaking.

Rhys closed the front door and took a few steps toward Feyre. “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t even bother with a greeting.

“No, Rhys,” Feyre breathed. “Don’t be.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I almost made you-”

“Made me?” Feyre frowned. “I don’t recall anyone anyone making me do anything.”

Rhys sighed and sat down on the couch across from Feyre’s chair. He looked exhausted, even more so than her. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well either. “You had just been attacked by someone who you’d fled halfway across the country from. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I knew exactly what I was doing.” Feyre’s sharp tone dissipated as she added, “I just freaked out a little.”

There was genuine grief in Rhys’ eyes. “I never should have touched you.”

Feyre blinked. She knew he felt bad, and that he hadn’t meant to do anything that would scare her away, but to hear him actually say he regretted that moment... Feyre felt a pang of something like sadness.

She tried to cover her thoughts by speaking. “I touched you first. Don’t act like you forced me to do anything.” Before Rhys could say anything else, she continued, “You told me what happened to you, Rhys. I’m not the only one with a past of abuse. It hasn’t even been a year since you got away. That’s what you told me. And I know you’re not better or fine or shit. You’re messed up inside. And so am I. And we consensually touched and almost kissed, okay? It’s not like you were trying to take advantage of me or something.” Feyre paused to regain her breath after that little rant.

Rhys lips twitched. “No less spirited, are you?”

Feyre smiled. “I’m sorry, Rhys. I’m the one who should be apologizing. If it hadn’t been for me, that wouldn’t have happened. Can we just be friends?”

Rhys almost looked... disappointed? But that couldn’t be right. He didn’t actually want Feyre like that. Flirting a bunch and getting caught up in the moment didn’t equate to liking someone. Right?

He smiled, and Feyre immediately disregarded the possibility that he had ever wanted anything more from her. “Of course.”

“Great.” Feyre felt a lot less satisfied than she appeared. She clearly wasn’t ready for anything, and even if Rhys was, he had actually said he should never have touched her. There was no point in pursuing any sort of relationship that Rhys wasn’t even interested in.

This was Feyre’s moment of clarity. Mor and Amren had agreed that Rhys wanted her as more than a friend the first day the two met. And deep down, despite her refusal to accept that, Feyre had believed them. And Rhys, being a flirty person, hadn’t done much to dispel that notion.

But they were wrong. She was wrong. He truly wasn’t interested in her like that. Or perhaps he had been, but after getting to know her, seeing the panic attack, the meds, Tamlin... there was really no way Rhys actually liked her.

Feyre was broken. There was nothing to like about her.

So she smiled kindly and asked Rhys if he wanted to get some lunch in the kitchen.

And with an equally positive smile, Rhys said yes.

The friendly mood was faked on both fronts, neither happy with the outcome of that conversation.

But how was Feyre supposed to know that Rhys was in love with her? So she just kept smiling. At her new friend.


	15. Chapter 15

**Day 44**

Things were finally settling down. It had been a week since the incident with Tamlin. Azriel had let Feyre and Mor know that it was safe to go back to their own apartment several days ago. Apparently, Tamlin had gone back to Detroit. No one knew what he was planning, but as Azriel was keeping close tabs on him, they would know if he returned. He had also told Feyre he would notify her about any updates concerning Tamlin or Lucien.

Feyre had spent the last week paining in her studio, trying to get the whorl of emotions she was feeling on canvases. So far, she had created a dark landscape with jagged rocks and firey tones to represent her fear and anger. To represent attack.

She had also painted an ocean. The waves were calm and the sun in the background was setting. Despite its calming appearance, a closer look revealed sadness and a touch of despair. Pale colors. A chilling atmosphere. The way the waves slowed, and the sun inched down in the sky, an end to the sunny day.

Feyre refused to acknowledge this sad painting had been inspired by her feelings about being friends with Rhys. Just friends.

Speaking of, the two were getting along well. They smiled and joked. They comforted and enjoyed each other’s company. But Rhys didn’t flirt anymore.

Even after what had happened when Feyre got stuck in her studio, when she had had a full-blown panic attack, he kept on giving mischievous grins and winks. Calling her darling. Rhys hadn’t once called Feyre “darling” since the attack. It hurt a lot more than Feyre was willing to admit.

At least she had therapy today. Dr. Suriel would listen to her vent and make Feyre feel better. Hopefully.

Feyre set down the stack of papers she had been sorting through and headed to the door. She felt a squeezing sensation in her gut when she tried to open the door, as she had every day since it got stuck, but it easily opened. There had been no trouble with it sticking since the incident, once she got it fixed.

Feyre was really enjoying her routine in Greenwich Village. Walk. Take the subway. Enjoy the sounds of people going about their day.

Finally, Feyre reached the therapist’s office. She walked up to the receptionist’s desk to check in when he glanced up and recognized her from her previous visits.

“Miss Archeron,” the receptionist said. “I regret to inform you that Dr. Suriel has turned in her resignation.”

Feyre blinked. “Really? She didn’t say anything about leaving.”

“Yes, it was very sudden. I’m not entirely sure why. Some blonde woman approached her almost a week ago after her last session. Then Dr. Suriel came to me and told me she was leaving her job.”

“Wouldn’t she have just taken a leave of absence?” Feyre asked.

The receptionist smiled sadly. “That’s what I asked her. She said she was leaving and not coming back. It’s a shame. I enjoyed working with her and her patients really seemed to enjoy working with her as well.”

A moment passed as Feyre processed this. Normally she would be concerned about Dr. Suriel’s family - had some relative passed away? What exactly had happened? But now... almost a week ago was right after seeing Tamlin. What if...?

“Could you describe this woman please?” Feyre questioned before she could stop herself. This was probably just a coincidence, but it didn’t hurt to check.

He gave her a strange look. It was, after all, a strange question. “Well, she was blonde, as I said. Slim, teal eyes. Dressed well. A bit... haughty-looking, I think. She wore silver rings and silver bracelets. A lot of them. I don’t really remember anything else. Miss Archeron, another therapist is filling in for her while we look for a replacement. You can sit down and wait if you like.”

Feyre had frozen. “Actually, I just remembered I have somewhere to be. I need to be on my way.”

Without waiting for a reply, Feyre turned and sped to the door, about jogging. She made it outside and looked around. Obviously, there was no one there, but Feyre was terrified. She needed to leave.

Feyre made it halfway to the subway station when she remembered Rhys.

Rhys quite likely had an appointment today, right after Feyre’s. And she needed to warn him.

Because the woman that the receptionist had described could be none other than Ianthe.

-

Feyre waited the duration of her appointment near the therapist’s, but not too close. She had debated calling Rhys, then remembered that while he may have her number, she didn’t have his.

She texted Mor, but it was her shift at the cafe, so she didn’t answer.

Being new, Feyre still hadn’t gotten anyone else’s number. Yes, she hung out with then more often now, but meeting at the gym or the cafe, or having Mor plan something didn’t require communicating like that, so no one had ever thought to exchange cell numbers.

And now Feyre had no way to contact Rhys. So she leaned against a street lamp nearby and waited.

While she stood, Feyre pondered the meaning of this. What exactly had Ianthe said to Dr. Suriel? Had she threatened her, or maybe her family? Did Dr. Suriel have a family? And what earthly reason would Ianthe have to kidnap her? Or possibly worse...

Feyre just prayed to the gods that Dr. Suriel was okay. And selfishly she prayed that this hadn’t been caused by her. Though Feyre knew better than that.

Finally, Feyre recognized the figure walking down the sidewalk toward the therapist’s office. Rhys was on the opposite side of it as her, and Feyre took off sprinting.

She passed the door and didn’t let herself look inside the glass. As if Ianthe would still be here.

Rhys took in the sight of Feyre sort-of running at him and paused, surely wondering what the fuck was happening.

“Is everything alright?” was the first thing Rhys said.

Feyre grabbed his arm and spun him around, dragging him back toward the direction he had come. “Dr. Suriel is gone.”

“What? Why? And why are we running?”

Feyre frowned. She finally stopped jogging, and the pair slowed to a halt.

“I’ve been really paranoid. So when the receptionist said she quit her job suddenly after talking to a woman, I asked him to describe the woman. And it was a friend of Tamlin’s, Ianthe Priestess.”

“Ianthe?” Rhys paled.

“You know her?”

A second passed while Rhys thought about his answer. “We’ve met on occasion. Are you sure it was her?”

“Well, almost sure. Teal eyes, silver jewelry, haughty-looking. It certainly sounds like her. It can’t be a coincidence.”

Rhys took a deep breath. “We can go ask Azriel to look into it. We should leave.”

They were a decent distance away from the therapist’s now, but both were concerned. Feyre and Rhys started walking again, toward the subway stop. She didn’t let go of his arm. He didn’t comment on it.

The subway ride was tense, both of them thinking about how Ianthe knew about Dr. Suriel and what she had done with her.

Feyre still clung to Rhys on the short walk from the subway to his townhouse. She tried to blame it on being petrified.

Inside, Cassian was no where in sight. He was likely at the gym. Azriel was sitting at the dining room table, sipping something from a mug and reading a book.

He looked up at Feyre and Rhys when they entered the room, took one look at their pale faces, and said, “Sit down.”

They did, and Rhys started talking. Feyre didn’t listen, though. This was when everything started blurring.

_I did this. I did this. That sweet, caring woman is in danger because of me._

The movement of Azriel standing from his chair and walking off brought Feyre back to attention. How long had they been sitting there? Her thoughts were still drifting, but she could register Rhys looking at her worriedly.

“What are you thinking?” Rhys reached out an hand to brush away a tear that had begun sliding down her cheek.

“I-” Feyre paused for a moment. “I did this. This is my fault. Everyone I care about gets hurt. I’m contaminated.”

Rhys’ eyes darkened. “Please don’t ever call yourself that again. You had the misfortune of getting taken in by that monster. He is the one responsible for this. Not you.” His voice quieted. “Not ever you.”

The sincerity of Rhys’ tone calmed Feyre. “Thank you. Gods, I’m such a mess.”

Rhys just shook his head and slid a thumb across Feyre’s face, collecting more tears. Feyre’s breathing quickened, and she cursed herself for being so responsive to his touch, even now. When he heard her reaction, he pulled his hand away as if he had just been burned.

Rhys stood. “I should get some tea for us.”

Feyre was reeling, seeing how he had pulled away. How he had realized he was being too personal for the friend zone, a place he very much wanted to stay. Because he didn’t want her like that. At least Feyre had enough presence of mind to say, “Tea? Rhys, I should go.”

He paused in the doorway, having made it there while Feyre collected her thoughts. “You should stay. For a little bit, I mean. You’re crying and you look absolutely petrified, Feyre. I can’t just let you leave like this.”

She hesitated. “Fine. Thanks, I mean. Tea would be very nice.”

Rhys gave a small smile and left the room. But Feyre barely noticed it, too consumed with rage. Not at Rhys; he hadn’t done anything wrong. But at the situation. At Tamlin or Amarantha or whatever deity had decided to make things this way. Because hearing Rhys say “Feyre” without an added darling was the worst kind of torture.

Rhys returned soon with a mug of tea for Feyre and one for himself. He sat across from her gave a friendly smile.

Feyre smiled back.

_This is getting ridiculous. We can’t even sit for one minute without awkwardly staring at each other_ , Feyre thought to herself.

“What did Azriel say? I kind of stopped listening.”

Rhys winced. “He said he was going to look into it. I don’t really question his methods. Did you know Ianthe well?”

The change in topic was abrupt, and Feyre welcomed it. As much as she dreaded discussing Ianthe, she absolutely did not want to talk about finding Dr. Suriel anymore. She just felt guilty thinking about her.

“She was around a lot, but I would never say I knew her well,” Feyre started. “Ianthe was... I’m clearly not the best judge of character. I was with Tamlin for many months, and the first few I actually think I loved him. But even then, I hated Ianthe. She was so condescending and hateful, but not outright. Tamlin thought she was a saint, but I... didn’t. How do you know her?”

Rhys smiled shakily. “Long before anything happened with her - Amarantha, I mean - Azriel, Amren, Mor, Cassian, and I would go on business trips together. I think they just liked the first class hotels the company could afford. They didn’t actually do anything.

“I was meeting with Tamlin and some others at one point when I met her. I didn’t like her. Ianthe just seemed like a type of person I didn’t like at first. There was something about her that made me want to run away. She constantly flirted, long after I declined her advances. Not just me, either. Azriel was harassed by her so often that he came back here early.

“After that, I was a bit more on edge with her. Then one night I went into my hotel room, and found her. Naked, on my bed.”

Feyre gasped slightly here. She hadn’t realized what a bitch Ianthe was.

“I threw her out. She wasn’t pleased. Still, she continued to throw herself at me and my friends and basically anyone in sight the next few times we met through business. That’s all, really.” Rhys finished, looking angry. Hell, Feyre would be pissed if someone did something like that to her and her friends.

“I’m so sorry,” Feyre said. She didn’t know what else to say. Realizing she’d gotten distracted and let her tea get cold, she took a sip.

Rhys gave a tight smile. “Yeah.” He paused, clearly thinking about everything.

Feyre knew what it was like get lost in your own thoughts. If she knew Rhys at all, he was almost certainly blaming himself for this. And, to her surprise, Feyre realized she _did_ know Rhys.

To distract him, she said, “Cassian says I’m getting better at kicking ass. He also seems to think you’re out of practice. Apparently, a little more practice and I might be able to beat you.”

Rhys’ lips twitched. “Is that so? Cassian clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

A raised eyebrow was all Feyre allowed. The flirty undertone to his voice had her too fucking excited for a conversation like this, with someone who had explicitly agreed to be her friend. But- “Are you sure? You’ve been at the gym most times I was there, but not this week. And you do seem a little... out of shape.” Who was she kidding? The man was no less ripped than before, and to claim he was gaining weight or losing muscle or anything was ridiculous. From the look on Rhys’ face, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Rhys smirked. Shit, she hadn’t seen that smirk in too long. This was a horrible idea, trying to get reactions out of Rhys that she knew didn’t mean anything to him.

Unaware of Feyre’s inner turmoil, Rhys spoke. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep going to the gym, then, if I’m so horribly out of shape.”

Feyre’s eyes snapped to his biceps, clearly visible and defined through his t-shirt. She allowed only a glance before averting her gaze back to Rhys’ face. He was grinning.

She winced internally. He had turned this conversation around on her. They both knew what Feyre was thinking when she looked at his muscles and it was not that he needed to go to the gym more. She was edging the line between an innocent distraction and real flirtation. The latter of which was not something she needed to deal with. Nor did he, for that matter. Not after what had happened last time.

“That’s a good idea,” was all Feyre could manage. Rhys could clearly spot the change in her face. But he was surely thinking that _he_ had gotten too flirty, and Feyre didn’t want that. Damn it. She was making such a mess of things.

He stood. “I can get some more tea. Or a snack.”

Feyre shook her head. “I’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you, Rhys, I really do appreciate it. But I should head out now.”

Rhys didn’t try to stop her as she hurried out the door.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have just noticed that Ianthe’s character tag has a lowercase “r” in ACoTaR unlike everyone else’s, and as someone with extreme OCD, I think I might be having a mental breakdown. So please don’t be angry if this isn’t my best work.

**Day 47**

_Tamlin’s face, leering down at her._ Right hook.

_Throwing her against the wall._ Uppercut.

_Lucien is on the floor now, bleeding._ Kick.

_Everything’s dark._ Left jab.

_She can’t get out. She’ll never get out._ Right cross. Kick.

“Someone’s in a mood today.”

Feyre glanced up at Cassian’s half-amused, half-concerned gaze. His face and legs were the only visible parts of him; he was holding a large pad for Feyre to take her anger out on.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Feyre muttered before throwing another punch. Cassian kept holding the pad, an immovable force. He seemed to understand that Feyre needed this right now.

Weeks in the gym had passed, and with it, Feyre’s fear drained. She gained not only more strength and skill, but more confidence. Cassian had quickly assessed her strengths and weaknesses and decided how best to teach Feyre how to fight. Yes, she had only had six sessions so far, but she felt very improved. The man really deserved a lot more credit than most people gave him.

But today was not going well for Feyre. She’d had a dream about Rhys last night. Not nearly as dirty as the others, but more... confusing.

Rhys had been sitting there on Feyre’s bed, looking at her starry night sky painting. She’d walked in and asked what he was doing there. Rhys had replied, saying he was waiting for her, in this creepy-ass voice.

Then Rhys had stood and walked past Feyre, not even bothering to do shit before leaving. She had looked over at the painting and realized some of the stars were shining more brightly than others, making a face. Feyre’s face.

And then she had looked over and realized she wasn’t standing anymore; she was in the painting, staring at the now empty room. Trapped.

Right before she could scream, Feyre awoke. And wondered what the fuck that had meant.

Having had dreams about ski lifts in the underworld and secret passages in libraries that turned into the stage of her favorite baking show, Feyre decided her dreams didn’t mean shit.

She had ignored thinking about it for all of five minutes before getting out of bed, getting ready, and going to her studio. She had then painted her room, from the point of view of her sky painting. And yes, it looked as creepy as it sounded.

After a few hours of that, Feyre left for her session with Cassian, only to remember that her therapist had been quite possibly kidnapped three days prior because of her own shitty decisions. Feyre had gotten so lost in self-pity that she had run into a lamppost, thought it was Tamlin, and tripped backward into a bush.

After getting a load of thorns out of her ass, Feyre had sprinted to the gym and hardly bothered to say hello to Cassian and jog to a bathroom to change before locking her stare on a punching bag.

Once Feyre kicked it so hard that it had come back and knocked her over, Cassian moved Feyre to the punching pad he was holding. And here they were.

Feyre let loose her most forceful punch, and Cassian grunted. “Fuck, you’ve gotten a lot better at this.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

Cassian didn’t say anything more after that for a while, but then he said, “Feyre. Hey, Feyre.”

It took a moment for her to notice he was even speaking, too lost in her movements. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Cassian grinned. “I’ve created a monster. Listen, I’m sure you have your reasons for beating the shit out of the punching pad, but you really need to stay hydrated. Water break?”

Hesitation crossed Feyre’s features; she just wanted to keep taking her anger out on him. It felt fucking good, and she was in a much better mood already. But it would be rude to say no. And he was right, anyway - her mouth was feeling a little dry. “Sure, yeah.”

Feyre went over to her bag and pulled out her water bottle. The first couple of sessions, Feyre had just come as is, but she finally pulled together some money for sportswear to change into. She had also borrowed an old gym bag from Mor, one that Mor didn’t use and insisted she keep.

“Want to talk about it?” Cassian asked, leaning against the wall near her.

A sigh from Feyre. “Just some shit’s been happening the past few days. And I fell in a bush.”

Cassian snorted. “Of course you did. You’re so clumsy.”

“Gee, thanks.” Feyre stuck up her middle finger.

“Just stating a fact.”

The pair continued bickering, then Cassian showed Feyre how to correct her right hook. Apparently he’d refrained from saying anything earlier, not wanting to disrupt her while she was “on the warpath,” as he so sensitively put it.

Then Feyre realized it was time to go. She hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten. Feyre went and changed back into street clothes. Before she said goodbye to Cassian, though, she suggested they exchange numbers.

“Just in case,” Feyre said. “I’ve been here well over a month and I don’t even know how to contact you.” She didn’t mention that she was thinking of last Friday, when she couldn’t ask anyone to warn Rhys since Mor didn’t answer. At least there hadn’t been any real danger - who knew what would happen next?

A toothy grin spread across Cassian’s face. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Just in case.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. But... she didn’t really _need_ to ignore his flirtations. Yes, he was probably just being friendly, but it’s not like she was with Rhys. They were just friends. Which meant she could flirt with whomever she wanted. Cassian, though?

Maybe not him. He was just too... Cassian. Not to mention he was one of Rhys’ best friends. Too many similarities. Best to find someone else.

Did Feyre want someone else, though? She hadn’t really though about anyone other than Rhys, and he was not an option, for obvious reasons. Maybe to move on, she needed to do that in the physical sense, at least. Not necessarily an actual relationship. Like maybe she should have a one-night stand?

Before Feyre could get sucked into the thought of hooking up with somebody, someone cleared their throat. Cassian. Right.

“What did you say?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I said goodbye.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I got distracted. Bye.” Feyre turned and clipped her shoulder on the wall. Was that time number two she had run into a wall in Cassian’s presence? Maybe he had a point about the clumsiness thing.

Ignoring the snort she heard come from him as he watched her pathetic attempt to make it out the door, Feyre kept moving. Once she reach the sidewalk, however, a voice called, “Feyre.”

She turned her head, spotting Azriel hovering near the door. She’d walked right past him. He was too fucking stealthy.

“Azriel! Hey. Are you here to see Cassian?”

He smiled. “Here to see you, actually. I got here a few minutes ago and didn’t want to interrupt. You’ve gotten very skilled, I have to admit.”

“Thanks. What did you need?” Feyre was curious as to why he had come all the way over here instead of waiting for her elsewhere.

“I have information.”

_Oh. That was quick._

Feyre just stood their, fearing whatever he had found out.

“Come with me,” Azriel said, though it sounded more like a suggestion than an order.

Feyre followed him, expecting him to take her back to the townhouse, but he just led her to a bench near the gym. What was so bad Feyre needed to sit down for it? Maybe he just didn’t want to make her stand.

Azriel gave a neutral look, like usual. “I’ll tell Rhys later. I thought you might want to be the first to hear. CCTV has spotted Dr. Suriel with her family not too far away. Her parents and her brother, Carver. She appears to be doing well.”

Feyre blinked. “You mean she isn’t in any danger? I thought... I could have sworn that Ianthe-”

Azriel stopped her by placing a friendly hand on her arm. “I think you were right, Feyre. And it seems to me like Dr. Suriel has been threatened. Some method of coercion was used on her, and I’m not sure I can get you any more information than that. On the bright side, if Dr. Suriel is doing as she’s told, I can’t see any reason for her to come to harm.”

Feyre released a breath. “And Ianthe?”

A grimace. “I have no clue where she is.” Azriel clearly didn’t enjoy admitting this.

“It’s alright. Thank you so much for this, Az.” Feyre’s words were entirely sincere. She really appreciated the effort Az had put into this. How hard was it to access CCTV and look through it?

Azriel smiled faintly. “You’re welcome, but that’s not all. A contact has informed me of your friend Lucien Vanserra’s movements. He was out with Tamlin. He seems to be okay for the time being.”

Feyre took a moment to digest this, then threw her arms around him. Lucien was okay. Azriel tensed, then carefully wrapped his arms around Feyre. He clearly wasn’t used to hugs.

Once they parted, Azriel smiled. “I have an idea.”

“Yeah?” Feyre was anticipating it.

“ _You_ can’t go to Detroit, of course. But if Lucien has information about Tamlin that could hurt him, I can help with that. I can go for a few days, under the radar, and meet with him discreetly. If he doesn’t have the information yet, I can set up communication with him.”

Feyre gasped. “Az, that’s... I can’t ask that of you.”

He just shook his head. “That man did unspeakable things to you, Feyre. If your friend can help stop him, there’s no way I’m saying no. Besides, Rhys got hurt too. For everyone’s sake, I want to do this. But only with your permission.”

Feyre let out a sob. “Shit, you people are too nice.”

Azriel grinned. “I’ll be on the first plane to Detroit tomorrow morning. I’ll meet Lucien, and figure out what he knows. Then I’ll be back, before you know it.”

Another shaky sob escaped Feyre’s lips. “Thank you.”

Azriel patted her on the back lightly. “You’re welcome. I know what it’s like to be in a bad situation.”

Feyre’s eyes flitted to his hands. Covered in scars. She had never dared to ask about them.

A grim smile settled on Azriel’s face. “My brothers did that. They burned them. While my father watched. I got out soon after, and Rhys’ mother took me in.”

Trying not to gasp, Feyre gently grabbed one of Azriel’s hands in each of hers. Her fingers wrapped around his scarred hands. He tightened the grip and Feyre smiled. “We’re out now.”

Azriel repeated, “We’re out.”

Feyre released her grip on Azriel and stood. “I should get back before Mor worries. Thank you so much for all of this.” Then she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, a totally sisterly peck, nothing more.

Azriel gave a gracious smile and watched as Feyre walked off.

-

Feyre and Mor had a stir-fry for dinner (made by Mor, obviously). Too upset to say anything about it, Feyre had neglected to tell Mor anything about Dr. Suriel’s disappearance. Now that she knew the doctor was safe for the time being, Feyre decided to open up.

She spilled the entire story, starting earlier in the week. Dr. Suriel, going to the townhouse, running out on Rhys. Today’s conversation with Azriel and his plan.

Mor listened attentively for once, only offering the occasional “What?!” or a gasp.

Once Feyre finished, she looked down at her plate. Gods, what would Mor think of this mess she’d dragged their friends into?

Mor sighed. “I’m so sorry all that happened. How are you holding up?”

So unused to kindness - gods, Tamlin had really done a number on her - Feyre took a moment to reply. “I’m okay, I think. I just feel so bad at all the trouble I’ve caused by coming here.”

Mor shook her head. “Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Feyre frowned. “I fucking hate this.”

Mor snorted. “Yep. So... things aren’t going well with Rhys?”

“As in well you mean what?” Feyre asked. She knew, but she didn’t want to give in to the fact that things going well would be her and Rhys getting together.

Mor grinned. “Still just friends?”

“Yes, I told you that. And you know what happened last time I tried something. We are staying friends. For both of our sakes.”

A scowl appeared on Mor’s face. “Damn trauma, getting in the way of my hundred bucks.”

Feyre snorted. “Whatever. Earlier I was thinking... Never mind.”

“What? Tell me,” demanded Mor. Shit, Feyre never should have said anything.

“I was thinking that maybe it’s been a too long since I’ve done anything.”

“Done anything? You’ve been doing plenty of things,” Mor said. She looked perturbed.

Feyre let out a breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex. Like, many months.”

Mor gasped. “But Rhys!”

“Rhys and I are not happening!” Feyre yelled. “Sorry. Gods, I shouldn’t be yelling. I just...”

“No, it’s okay. You can do whatever you want, Fey. And if you want to go out and I pick a guy, I’ll help you. I just mourn my bet winnings.” Mor clearly wasn’t saying something, but she decided to let it slide.

“Yeah,” Feyre breathed. “Thanks. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

Mor smiled. “Does anyone?”

A snort left Feyre and she picked up her empty plate, as well as Mor’s. Mor thanked her, then said, “Want to watch the newest episode of _Death in Paradise_?”

“Definitely!”

-

As Feyre climbed under the sheets, ready to go to sleep for the night, she started thinking a little more. She deserved to be allowed to do what she wanted after all the shit she’d been through, and if sleeping with someone was what she wanted, then she’d do it.

Rhys was her friend, and no matter how much she desired him to be more, no matter how many dreams she had about him, he would not be anything more. She’d tried it and he had said he never should have touched her.

So Feyre made up her mind. It was time to have a one-night stand.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me on [Tumblr](https://surielandiareendgame.tumblr.com/)!


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